THE  LIBRARY 

OF 

THE  UNIVERSITY 

OF  CALIFORNIA 
LOS  ANGELES 


UNIVERSITY  OF  r 


STATE  NORilAL  SCHOOL, 

LtOS  AflOBbES,  CAU. 


AULD    LANG    SYNE 


'f^f4-  th^m'Tfiyifyf/^f'?^ 


'/'M^K  'hui^ 


AULD  LANG  SYNE 


BY 

The  Rt.  Hon.  Professor  F.  MAX   MULLER 

AUTHOR   OF   THE    "SCIENCE   OF    LANGUAGE,"    ETC. 


WITH  A  PORTRAIT 


New  York 
CHARLES   SCRIBNER'S   SONS 

1899 


Copyright,  1898,  by 
CHARLES  SCRIBNER'S  SONS 


TKOW  DIReCTOBY 

MINTmO  AMD  BOOKBINDING  COHPANY 

NEW  YOBK 


PREFACE 

What  are  you  to  do  when  you  are  sent  away  by 
your  doctor  for  three  or  four  weeks  of  perfect  rest? 
You  are  made  to  promise  that  you  will  lie  perfectly 
fallow,  take  no  books  and  allow  no  proofsheets  to 
reach  you.  A  very  eminent  German  professor,  the 
late  Dr.  Neander,  the  famous  Church  historian, 
solved  the  difficulty  in  his  own  way.  He  had 
faithfully  promised  his  physician  that  he  would 
take  no  books  with  him  to  Karlsbad,  but  had  at  last, 
as  a  great  favour,  obtained  permission  to  take  at 
least  one  work  with  him  on  his  journey.  On  the 
morning  of  his  departure  the  doctor  wished  to  say 
good-bye  to  his  patient,  and  calling  at  his  door  saw 
a  cart  laden  with  heavy  folios.  "  But,  dear  pro- 
fessor," he  said,  with  considerable  surprise  and 
displeasure,  "you  had  promised  me  to  take  no 
books  with  you."  "  Yes,  doctor,"  the  professor  re- 
plied, "  but  you  allowed  me  one  work,  so  I  thought 
I  might  take  the  Fathers  with  me  to  Karlsbad."  I 
might  have  done  the  same,  if  I  had  taken  the  "  Kig 
Veda  "  only,  or  the  Sacred  Books  of  the  East  with 


vi  Preface 

me,  but  my  conscience  would  not  allow  it,  so  tliat  I 
found  myself  in  small  lodgings  at  an  English  wa- 
tering place  with  nothing  to  do  all  day  long  but 
to  answer  a  number  of  accumulated  letters  and  to 
read  The  Times,  which  always  follows  me.  What 
was  I  to  do  ?  Doctors  ought  to  know  that  to  a 
man  accustomed  to  work  enforced  rest  is  quite  as 
irritating  and  depressing  as  travaux  forces.  In 
self-defence  I  at  last  hit  on  a  very  simple  expedient. 
I  began  to  write  what  could  be  written  without  a 
single  book,  and  taking  paper,  pen  and  ink — these 
I  had  never  forsworn — I  jotted  down  some  recol- 
lections of  former  years.  The  fancy  took  me,  and 
I  said  with  Goethe  : — 

Ihr  naht  encli  ^vieder,  schwankende  Gestalten — 

and  after  a  day  or  two  I  was  so  absorbed  in  my 
work,  if  work  it  could  be  called,  that  I  said  again 
with  Goethe : — 

Ihr  drangt  eucli  zu !    Nun  gut,  so  mogt  ihr  walten.    .    .   . 

Of  course  I  had  to  leave  many  a  gap  in  my  sketch 
of  Auld  Lang  Syne.  Dates,  even  names,  would 
now  and  then  leave  me  in  the  lurch,  and  as  I  had 
no  means  of  verifying  anything,  I  had  to  wait  till 
I  was  settled  again  among  my  books  and  letters 
and  papers  at  home.  But  though  I  corrected  some 
glaring  anachronisms  and  some  mistaken  names,  I 


Preface  vii 

could  leave  my  MS.  very  much  as  it  had  been  writ- 
ten down  in  my  temporary  exile,  and  I  can  there- 
fore vouch  for  its  truth  so  far  that  it  is  an  exact 
copy  of  the  negative  developed  by  long  exposure 
in  my  memory.  Whether  it  is  accurate,  who  can 
tell  ?  I  know  from  sad  experience  that  my  mem- 
ory is  no  longer  what  it  was.  All  I  can  say  is  that 
the  positive  copy  here  published  is  as  true  and  as  ex- 
act as  the  rays  of  the  evening  sun  of  life,  falling  on 
the  negative  in  my  memory,  could  make  it.  Though 
I  have  suppressed  whatever  could  possibly  have 
given  ojBfence  to  any  sensible  person,  however  sen- 
sitive, I  have  not  retouched  the  pictures  of  my 
friends  or  acquaintances,  nor  have  I  tried,  as  is 
now  so  much  the  fashion,  to  take  out  all  the  lines 
and  wrinkles  so  that  nothing  remains  but  the 
washed-out  faces  of  angels. 

What  I  give  here  is  but  a  small  portion  of  the 
panorama  of  life  that  has  passed  before  my  eyes. 
Of  myself  there  is  but  little,  for  the  spectator  or 
interpreter  in  a  panorama  should  remain  unseen 
and  in  the  dark.  It  is  a  pleasure  to  him,  though 
often  a  sad  pleasure,  to  see  once  more  what  he  has 
seen  before,  to  live  the  old  time  over  again,  to  look 
once  more  at  dear  faces,  once  so  full  of  love  and 
life,  to  feel  the  touch  of  a  vanished  hand,  and  hear 
a  voice  that  is  still. 

As  we  grow  old  it  is  our  fate  to  lose  our  friends ; 


Vlll 


Preface 


but  the  friends  we  have  lost  are  often  nearer  to  us 
than  those  who  remain.  "Will  they  never  be  quite 
near  to  us  again?  Stars  meet  stars  after  thou- 
sands  of  years,  and  are  we  not  of  more  value  than 
many  a  star  ? 

F.  MAX  MtJLLER. 


STATS  NORMAL  SCHOUl, 

IiOS-  AX40E11ES,  ^CftLt. 


CONTENTS 


FAQB 


MuSIOAIi  BECOIiliECnONS 1 

LiTEEAiiY  Recollections — 

1 40 

n 86 

HI 120 

IV 164 

Becolleotions  of  Kotalties — 

I ,        .  205 

n o        .        ,        .  245 

Beggars 289 

Index 321 


IS 


AULD   LANG   SYNE 
MUSICAL   RECOLLECTIONS 

The  man  that  has  no  music  in  himself, 

Nor  is  not  moved  with  concord  of  sweet  sounds, 

Is  fit  for  treasons,  stratagems,  and  spoils  : 

The  motions  of  his  spirit  are  dull  as  night, 

And  his  affections  dark  as  Erebus. 

Let  no  such  man  be  trusted. 

Thus  wrote  Shakespeare;  but  witli  all  due  re- 
spect for  the  immortal  bard,  he  was  wrong  for 
once.  Did  not  my  dear  friend,  Arthur  Stanley, 
hate  music,  and  was  he  not  to  be  trusted  ?  Were 
his  affections  dark  as  Erebus  ? 

True  it  is,  music  gives  us  a  new  life,  and  to  be 
■without  that  life  is  the  same  loss  as  to  be  blind, 
and  not  to  know  the  infinite  blue  of  the  sky,  the 
varied  verdure  of  the  trees,  or  the  silver  sparkle  of 
the  sea.  Music  is  the  language  of  the  soul,  but 
it  defies  interpretation.  It  means  something,  but 
that  something  belongs  not  to  this  world  of  sense 
and  logic,  but  to  another  world,  quite  real,  though 

1 


2  Auld  Lang  Syne 

beyond  all  definition.  How  different  music  is  from 
all  other  arts !  They  all  have  something  to  imitate 
which  is  brought  to  us  by  the  senses.  But  what 
does  music  imitate?  Not  the  notes  of  the  lark, 
nor  the  roar  of  the  sea ;  they  cannot  be  imitated, 
and  if  they  are,  it  is  but  a  caricature.  The  melo- 
dies of  Schubert  were  chosen,  not  from  the  Prater, 
but  from  another  world. 

For  educational  purposes  music  is  invaluable. 
It  softens  the  young  barbarian,  it  makes  him  use 
his  fingers  deftly,  it  lifts  him  up,  it  brings  him 
messages  from  another  world,  it  makes  him  feel 
the  charm  of  harmony  and  beauty.  There  is  no 
doubt  an  eternal  harmony  that  pervades  every 
kind  of  music,  and  there  are  the  endless  varieties 
of  music,  some  so  strange  that  they  seem  hardly  to 
deserve  to  be  called  a  gift  of  the  Muses.  There  is 
in  music  something  immortal  and  something  mor- 
tal. There  is  even  habit  in  music ;  for  the  music 
that  delights  us  sounds  often  hideous  to  unedu- 
cated ears. 

Indian  music  is  thoroughly  scientific,  based  on 
mathematics,  and  handed  down  to  the  present  age 
after  many  centuries  of  growth.  But  when  we 
hear  it  for  the  first  time,  it  seems  mere  noise, 
without  melody,  without  harmony,  without  rhythm. 
The  Maoris  have  their  own  music  too,  but  send  a 
New  Zealander  to  hear  a  long  symphony  of  Beet- 


Musical  Recollections  3 

hoven,  acd,  if  he  can,  he  will  certainly  run  away 
long  before  the  finale. 

In  a  lesser  degree  it  is  the  same  with  us.  Beet- 
hoven's compositions  were  at  first  considered  wild 
and  lawless.  Those  who  admired  Mozart  and 
Haydn  could  not  endure  him.  Afterwards  the 
world  was  educated  up  to  his  Ninth  Symphony, 
but  some  of  his  later  sonatas  for  pianoforte  and 
■violin  were  played  by  Mendelssohn  and  David  in 
my  hearing,  and  they  both  shrugged  their  shoul- 
ders, and  thought  that  the  old  man  had  been  no 
longer  quite  himself  when  he  wrote  them.  We  have 
grown  into  them,  or  up  to  them,  and  now  many  a 
young  man  is  able  to  enjoy  them,  and  to  enjoy 
them  honestly.  I  remember  the  time  when  Schu- 
mann's songs  were  published  at  Leipzig,  and  the 
very  same  songs  which  now  delight  us  were  then 
by  the  best  judges  called  curious,  strange,  interest- 
ing, promising,  but  no  more.  Yes,  there  is  habit 
in  music,  and  we  are  constantly  passing  through  a 
musical  education ;  nay,  the  time  comes  when  our 
education  seems  finished,  and  we  can  learn  and 
take  in  no  more.  I  have  passed  through  a  long 
school.  I  began  with  Haydn,  Mozart,  and  Beet- 
hoven, lived  on  with  Mendelssohn,  rose  to  Schu- 
mann, and  reached  even  Brahms;  but  I  could 
never  get  beyond,  I  could  never  learn  to  enjoy 
"Wagner  except  now  and  then  in  one  of  his  lucid 


4  Auld  Lang  Syne 

intervals.  No  doubt  this  is  my  fault  and  my  loss, 
but  surely  the  vidgus  profanum  also  has  its  rights 
and  may  protest  against  being  tired  instead  of  be- 
ing refreshed  and  invigorated  by  music.  Would 
Mendelssohn  have  admired  Wagner?  Would  Beet- 
hoven have  listened  to  his  music,  would  Bach 
have  tolerated  it  ?  Yet  these  were  musicians  too, 
though  perhaps  not  sufficiently  educated.  To  be 
honest,  a  great  deal  of  Wagner's  music  seems  tire- 
some to  me,  and  I  do  not  see  why  it  should  ever 
end. 

My  musical  education  began  very  early,  so  early 
that  I  cannot  remember  ever  passing  through  any 
drudgery.  As  long  as  I  remember  I  could  play, 
and  I  was  destined  to  become  a  musician,  till  I 
went  to  the  University,  and  Mendelssohn  advised 
me  to  keep  to  Greek  and  Latin.  I  was  bom  and 
brought  up  in  Dessau,  a  small  German  town  in  an 
oasis  of  oak-trees  where  the  Elbe  and  the  Mulde 
meet,  a  town  then  overflowing  with  music.  Such 
towns  exist  no  longer. 

When  I  went  to  school  at  Dessau,  this  small 
capital  of  the  small  Duchy  of  Anhalt  -  Dessau 
counted,  I  believe,  not  more  than  ten  or  twelve 
thousand  inhabitants.  Everybody  knew  every- 
body. As  a  boy  I  knew  not  only  the  notables 
of  Dessau,  I  knew  the  shops  and  the  shopmen, 
the  servants,  the  day-labourers  {Tagelohner)  who 


Musical  Recollections  5 

sawed  and  split  wood  in  the  street,  every  old 
woman  that  sold  apples,  every  beggar  that  asked 
for  a  Pfennig — mark,  not  a  penny,  but  the  tenth 
part  of  a  penny.  It  was  a  curious  town,  with  one 
long  street  running  through  it,  the  Cavalier strasse, 
very  broad,  with  pavements  on  each  side.  But 
the  street  had  to  be  weeded  from  time  to  time, 
there  being  too  little  traffic  to  prevent  the  grass 
from  growing  up  between  the  chinks  of  the  stones. 
The  houses  had  generally  one  storey  only ;  those  of 
two  or  three  storeys  were  mostly  buildings  erected 
by  the  Duke  for  his  friends  and  his  higher  officials. 
Many  houses  were  mere  cottages,  consisting  of  a 
ground  floor  and  a  high  roof.  Almost  every  house 
had  a  small  mysterious  looking-glass  fastened  out- 
side the  window  in  which  the  dwellers  within  could 
watch  and  discuss  an  approaching  visitor  long  be- 
fore he  or  she  came  within  speaking  distance.  It 
was  the  fashion  not  only  to  white-wash  the  plastered 
walls  of  houses,  but  to  green- wash,  or  to  blue-wash, 
or  to  pink-wash  them.  All  this  is  changed  now  ; 
few  people  remember  the  old  streets,  with  distant 
lamps  swinging  across  to  make  darkness  more  vis- 
ible at  night,  and  with  long  waterspouts  frowning 
down  on  the  pavement  like  real  gurgoyles,  and  not 
frowning  only,  but  during  a  thunderstorm  pouring 
down  buckets  of  water  on  the  large  red  and  green 
umbrellas  of  the  passers-by. 


6  Auld  Lang  Syne 

Dessau  was  then  a  very  poor  town,  but  a  Iceta 
paupertas  reigned  in  it;  everybody  knew  how 
much  everybody  else  possessed  or  earned,  and  no 
one  was  expected  to  spend  more  than  was  justi- 
fied by  his  position.  We  can  hardly  understand 
now  with  how  little  people  then  managed,  not 
only  to  live,  but  thoroughly  to  enjoy  the  highest 
pleasures  of  life.  My  grandfather,  who  was  the 
Duke's  Prime  Minister,  received,  I  believe,  no 
more  than  two  thousand  thalers  (£300)  salary, 
though  there  may  have  been  additional  allowances 
for  rent,  carriages  and  horses.  But  there  was  a 
curious  mixture  of  simplicity  of  life  and  enjoy- 
ments of  the  highest  kind.  I  remember  in  my 
grandfather's  house  delightful  social  gatherings, 
musical  and  literary  performances.  I  remember 
Mozart's  "  Don  Juan,"  Beethoven's  "  Fidelio  "  be- 
ing performed  there,  the  latest  works  of  Goethe 
and  Jean  Paul  being  read  and  aippreciated  with  a 
cup  of  tea  or  a  glass  of  wine.  A  more  select  cir- 
cle enjoyed  their  Shakespeare,  their  Dante,  their 
Calderon  in  English,  Italian,  and  Spanish.  I  re- 
member my  grandfather  (the  son  of  Basedow,  the 
reformer  of  national  education  in  Germany)  in  his 
Court  uniform,  driving  to  Court  in  his  carriage 
and  pair,  servants  in  full  livery,  everybody  making 
room  for  him  and  bowing  deep  on  each  side,  hat 
in  hand.     And  when  he  came  back  from  Court, 


Musical  Recollections  7 

was  it  not  a  real  holiday  for  liis  grandchildren  to 
turn  the  pockets  of  his  uniform  inside  out — the 
pockets  were  lined  on  purpose  with  soft  leather — 
to  see  what  bonbons  and  cakes  he  had  brought 
home  for  us  from  Tafel — i.e.,  dinner  at  Court  ?  Al- 
most my  first  recollections  come  from  my  grand- 
father's house.  My  mother,  after  the  very  early 
death  of  my  father,  who  died  before  I  was  four 
years  old,  had  gone  back  to  live  at  her  father's 
house.  This  was  a  very  common  arrangement 
then.  Two  or  three  generations  often  lived  to- 
gether in  the  same  house,  and  among  the  better 
families  the  house  was  looked  upon  as  a  common 
home,  descending  from  father  to  son  and  grand- 
son. There  was  a  large  garden  stretching  out  be- 
hind the  house,  which  was  our  playground.  Our 
neighbours'  gardens  were  separated  on  each  side 
from  our  own  by  a  low  hedge  only.  Next  door  to 
U3  was  the  house  of  a  soap  and  candle  maker,  and 
I  still  remember  the  disagreeable  smells  on  the  day 
when  soap  was  boiled  and  candles  were  drawn. 
People  talked  across  the  garden  hedge  to  their 
neighbours,  and  all  the  affairs  of  the  town  were 
discussed  there.  Our  neighbour  on  the  right  side 
took  lodgers,  and  one  of  them  was  a  young  man 
who  had  come  to  Dessau  to  study  music  under  F. 
Schneider,  and  at  the  same  time  to  give  music 
lessons.     He  had  been  a  theological  student,  but 


8  Auld  Lang  Syne 

had  umgesattelt  (changed  saddles),  and  now  tried 
to  support  himself  as  best  he  could  at  Dessau. 
He  often  talked  to  me  across  the  garden  hedge  (I 
was  only  five  years  old).  One  day  he  lifted  me 
across  into  his  own  garden,  and  asked  whether  I 
would  like  to  learn  the  pianoforte.  I,  of  course, 
said  yes,  and  he  then  bade  me  promise  to  come  to 
him  every  day  for  half  an  hour,  but  not  to  say  a 
word  to  my  mother  or  to  anybody  else.  The  bar- 
gain was  struck;  I  kept  my  music  quite  secret, 
till,  after  about  half  a  year  or  so,  I  sat  down  at  my 
grandfather's  pianoforte,  and  to  the  amazement  of 
everybody  played  some  easy  pieces  of  Mozart  or 
Diabelli.  Of  course  the  young  theological  student 
— his  name  was  Kahle — was  engaged  at  once  to  be 
my  music-master.  He  charged  five  Groschen  (six- 
pence) for  a  lesson,  and  I  made  very  rapid  prog- 
ress. My  mother  was  very  musical ;  she  had  a 
splendid  alto  voice,  and  was  often  invited  to  sing 
the  solos  at  the  great  musical  festivals  in  Germany. 
My  aunts,  too,  sang  very  well,  and  as  a  little  boy  I 
could  sing  all  the  songs  which  they  sang,  and  well 
remember  being  put  on  a  table  to  sing  Handel's 
great  arias,  "  Schnell  wie  des  Blitzes  Strahl,"  etc. 
Dessau  at  that  time  was  steeped  in  music. 

The  reigning  Duke  kept  a  first-rate  orchestra^ 
and  at  the  head  of  it  was  Friedrich  Schneider,  a 
well-known  composer  of  the  old  school,  a  cantor, 


Musical  Recollections  9 

like  Bach,  but  also  Ducal  Capellmeister,  and  the 
head  of  what  was  then  called  a  musical  school, 
now  a  conservatoriuin.  This  school  was  fre- 
quented by  students  from  all  parts  of  Germany, 
and  it  has  produced  some  excellent  musicians  and 
well-known  composers.  There  were  public  con- 
certs given  regularly  every  fortnight  at  a  very  low 
charge,  and  there  were  rehearsals  twice  a  week,  at 
which  a  few  people  only  were  allowed  to  be  pres- 
ent. I  w^as  one  of  the  few,  and  every  Tuesday 
and  Friday  after  school  I  sat  there  for  an  hour  or 
two  hearing  the  very  best  music  excellently  per- 
formed, and  being  deeply  impressed,  nay,  awed  by 
old  Schneider,  who  stormed  at  the  players  when  a 
single  note  went  wrong,  and  used  language  which 
I  was  not  allowed  to  repeat.  He  was  a  character. 
A  small,  square  man,  with  greyish  hair  flowing 
down  to  his  shoulders,  his  black  eyes  full  of  fire, 
and  sometimes  of  fury.  He  was  very  fond  of  his 
glass  of  wine,  which  had  given  to  his  whole  face, 
and  particularly  to  his  nose,  a  glowing  ruddy  com- 
plexion. He  brooked  no  opposition  from  any- 
body, and  he  was  the  terror  of  all  the  young  mu- 
sicians who  showed  themselves  at  Dessau.  His 
orchestra  had  such  a  reputation  at  that  time  that 
some  of  the  greatest  celebrities  considered  it  an 
honour  either  to  have  their  compositions  per- 
formed or  to  be  allowed  to  sing  or  play  at  his  con- 


lo  Auld  Lang  Syne 

certs.  I  remember  Paganini,  Sonntag,  Spolir, 
Mendelssohn  (then  quite  a  young  man),  and  many 
more  passing  through  their  ordeal  at  Dessau. 
Mendelssohn's  visit  left  a  deep  impression  on  my 
mind.  I  was  still  a  mere  child,  he  a  very  young 
man,  and,  as  I  thought,  with  the  head  of  an 
angel.  Mendelssohn's  was  always  a  handsome 
face,  but  later  in  life  the  sharpness  of  his  features 
betrayed  his  Jewish  blood.  He  excelled  as  an  or- 
gan player,  and  while  at  Dessau  he  played  on  the 
organ  in  the  Grosse  Kirche,  chiefly  extempore.  I 
was  standing  by  him,  when  he  took  me  on  his 
knees  and  asked  me  to  play  a  choral  while  he 
played  the  pedal.  I  see  it  all  now  as  if  it  had 
been  yesterday,  and  I  felt  convinced  at  that  time 
that  I  too  {ancJi  io)  would  be  a  musician.  Was 
not  Weber,  Karl  Maria  von  Weber,  my  godfather, 
and  had  he  not  given  me  my  surname  of  Max? 
My  father  and  mother  had  been  staying  with 
Weber  at  Dresden,  and  my  father  had  undertaken 
to  write  the  text  for  a  new  opera,  which  was  nev- 
er finished.  Weber  was  then  writing  his  "Frei 
schiitz,"  and  my  mother  has  often  described  to  me 
how  he  would  walk  about  the  whole  day  in  his 
room  composing,  not  before  the  pianoforte,  but 
with  a  small  guitar,  and  how  she  heard  every  mel- 
ody gradually  emerging  from  the  twang  of  his  little 
instrument.     Both  his  wife  and  my  mother  were 


Musical  Recollections  ii 

expecting  their  confinement,  and  it  was  arranged 
that  if  the  children  should  be  boys,  they  should 
be  called  Max,  if  girls,  Agathe.  We  were  both 
boys,  and  Weber's  son,  Max  Maria  von  Weber,  be- 
came a  distinguished  traveller,  a  most  charming 
writer,  and  at  last  an  influential  financier  in  the 
Austrian  service.  He  stayed  with  me  several  times 
at  Oxford,  and  we  exchanged  notes  about  our  re- 
spective fathers.  He  published  a  life  of  his  father, 
which  has,  I  believe,  been  translated  into  English. 
Old  Schneider  was  kind  to  young  Mendels- 
sohn, whenever  he  came  to  Dessau ;  they  were 
both  ardent  admirers  of  Handel  and  Bach,  but 
the  more  modern  and  romantic  compositions  of 
the  young  composer  did  not  quite  meet  the  ap- 
proval of  the  severe  Maestro.  Schneider  was  ter- 
ribly outspoken,  and  apt  to  lose  his  temper  and  be- 
come violent.  He  once  had  a  most  painful  scene 
with  Madame  Sonntag,  or  rather  with  Count- 
ess Something,  as  she  was  then.  First  of  all,  he 
thought  very  little  of  any  composer  whose  name 
ended  in  ini  or  ante,  and  he  would  but  seldom 
yield  to  the  Duke  and  Duchess  when  chey  wished 
now  and  then  to  have  some  of  Rossini's  or  Mer- 
cadante's  music  performed  by  their  own  orchestra. 
But  when  the  Italian  Countess  ventured  to  speak 
to  his  orchestra  and  to  ask  them  for  a  ritardando 
of  her  own,  he  flourished  his  baton  and  broke  out : 


12  Auld  Lang  Syne 

"Madame,"  he  said,  "you  may  sing  as  you  like, 
but  I  look  after  of  my  orchestra,"  and  there  was 
an  end  of  it. 

Life  "went  on,  and  what  time  I  could  spare  from 
school  work,  perhaps  too  much,  was  given  to  mu- 
sic. There  was  not  an  air  or  a  symphony  of 
Beethoven's  which  at  that  time  I  could  not  have 
hummed  from  beginning  to  end,  and  even  now  I 
often  detect  myself  humming,  "  Ich  bin's,  du  bist's, 
O  himmlisches  Entziicken !  "  Who  does  not  know 
that  duet  between  Fidelio  and  Florestan  ?  Much 
of  that  humming  repertorio  has  remained  with  me 
for  life,  though  I  cannot  always  tell  now  where  an 
Allegro  or  Adagio  comes  from.  It  comes  without 
being  called,  I  cannot  drive  it  away  when  I  want 
to  be  quiet.  I  hum  the  bass,  I  whistle  the  pic- 
colo, I  draw  out  the  notes  from  the  violoncello,  I 
blow  the  trumpet,  in  fact  I  often  feel  like  Queen 
Bess,  "And  she  shall  have  music  wherever  she 
goes." 

When  I  was  about  eleven  or  twelve,  old  Schnei- 
der allowed  me  to  play  with  accompaniment  of 
the  full  orchestra  some  concertos  of  Mozart,  etc. 
This  was  a  great  event  in  my  quiet  life,  and  every- 
thing looked  as  if  music  was  to  be  my  profession. 
When  afterwards  I  went  to  the  Nicolai  School  at 
Leipzig,  the  school  at  which  Leibniz  (not  Leib- 
nitz)  had   been   educated,  I   lived   again   in  the 


Musical  Recollections  13 

musical  house  of  Professor  Carus.  His  wife  sang 
sweetly ;  his  son,  my  old  friend,  Professor  V. 
Carus,  was  an  excellent  violin  player,  a  pupil  of 
David.  I  myself  began  to  play  the  violoncello, 
but  without  much  success,  and  I  joined  a  chorus 
under  Mendelssohn,  who  was  then  director  of 
the  famous  Gewandhaus  Concerts  at  Leipzig. 
We  often  had  to  sing  anything  he  had  composed 
and  wished  to  hear  before  performing  it  in  public. 
As  a  friend  of  my  father  and  my  mother,  Men- 
delssohn was  always  most  charming  to  me,  but 
he  did  not  encourage  my  idea  of  a  musical  career. 
The  fact  was  I  had  not  time  to  serve  two  masters. 
I  could  not  practise  and  study  music  as  it  ought  to 
be  practised  and  studied  without  neglecting  Greek 
and  Latin,  and,  as  life  became  more  serious,  my 
mind  was  more  and  more  drawn  to  the  thoughts 
of  antiquity,  to  Homer  and  Cicero,  and  away  from 
the  delights  of  music.  I  heard  excellent  music  at 
the  house  of  Professor  Carus.  I  still  have  an  old 
slip  of  paper  on  which  Mendelssohn,  Liszt,  David, 
Kalliwoda  and  Hiller  wrote  their  names  for  me 
one  evening  after  they  had  been  playing  quartettes 
at  Professor  Carus's  house.     (See  page  14.) 

I  even  ventured  while  at  Leipzig  to  play  some- 
times at  public  concerts  in  the  neighbourhood. 
But  when  I  began  to  look  forward  to  what  I  should 
make  of  my  life,  and  how  I  should  carve  out  for 


H 


Auld  Lang  Syne 


myself  a  useful  career,  I  saw  that  music  was  out 
of  the  question.  There  was  another  consideration 
which  determined  my  choice.  There  was  much 
deafness  in  my  family.     My  mother  became  deaf 


d:::^iA^<zicy^v^^^. 


when  she  was  still  quite  young,  my  grandmother, 
several  of  my  uncles  and  cousins,  all  had  lost  their 
hearing,  and  this  induced  me,  young  as  I  was,  to 
choose  a  profession  which  would  be  possible  even 
if  I  should  share  the  same  misfortune.  I  could 
not  think  of  medicine,  or  law,  or  the  Church — so  I 
said  to  myself,  keep  to  Greek  and  Latin,  try  to  be 


Musical  Recollections  15 

a  scholar.  A  professorsliip  was  my  highest  ambi- 
tion, but  I  thought  that  even  if  that  should  fail,  I 
might  find  a  quiet  Benedictine  cell  somewhere,  and 
support  myself  by  my  pen.  So  music  had  to  step 
into  the  background,  not  altogether,  but  so  as  not 
to  interfere  with  more  serious  work.  No,  music, 
though  somewhat  slighted,  has  remained  a  true 
and  faithful  friend  to  me  through  life.  I  have  en- 
joyed music  until  very  late  in  life  when  I  began  to 
feel  satisfied,  and  would  much  rather  hum  a  sym- 
phony to  myself  than  hear  it  played,  often  not  half 
so  well  as  I  remembered  it  at  Dessau,  at  the  Ge- 
wandhaus  Concerts  at  Leipzig,  and  at  the  mar- 
vellous Conservatoire  Concerts  in  Paris.  These 
'vere  the  perfection  of  instrumental  music.  Never 
has  any  other  performance  come  near  them.  It 
was  difficult  to  get  a  ticket.  People  used  to  form 
queue  and  stand  the  whole  night  in  order  to  secure 
the  next  morning  an  ahonnement  for  the  season. 
To  buy  a  ticket  was  beyond  my  means,  for  when 
I  was  at  Paris  I  had  entirely  to  support  myself. 
But  a  friend  of  mine  took  me  to  the  Conserva- 
toire, and  I  often  sat  in  the  corridor  without  see- 
ing the  orchestra,  listening  as  if  to  organ  music. 
It  was  perfect.  Every  instrument  of  the  orchestra 
was  first-rate — the  players  had  mostly  passed 
through  the  same  school,  the  conductor  was  an  old 
man  with  a  German  name  which  I  forget.     Was  it 


l6  Auld  Lang  Syne 

Habeneck?  He  reminded  me  of  Schneider,  and 
certainly  his  orchestra  marched  like  a  regiment  of 
soldiers. 

And  besides  being  a  constant  source  of  the 
highest  enjoyment  to  me,  music  has  often  helped 
me  in  my  pilgrimage  through  life.  Both  in  Paris 
and  later  on  in  London,  many  a  house  was  open  to 
me  which  would  have  remained  closed  to  a  mere 
scholar.  Musicians  also  always  took  an  interest  in 
the  son  of  the  poet,  Wilhelm  Miiller,  whose  songs 
had  been  set  to  music,  not  only  by  Schubert,  but 
by  many  other  popular  composers.  I  well  remem- 
ber, Avhen  telling  Jenny  Lind  whose  son  I  was, 
how  she  held  up  her  hands  and  said:  "What? 
the  son  of  the  poet  of  the  *  Miillerlieder ' !  Now 
sit  down,"  she  said,  "  and  let  me  sing  you  the 
*  Schone  Miillerm.'  "  And  she  began  to  sing,  and 
sang  all  the  principal  songs  of  that  sad  idyll,  just 
moving  her  head  and  hands  a  little,  but  really  act- 
ing the  whole  story  as  no  actress  on  the  stage 
could  have  acted  it.  It  was  a  perfect  tragedy,  and 
it  has  remained  with  me  for  life.  Stockhausen  .also 
(who,  as  I  saw  too  late,  has  just  been  celebrating 
his  seventieth  birthday)  once  sang  the  "Winter- 
reise  "  to  me  in  the  same  way,  but  as  I  had  to  ac- 
company hira  I  had  only  half  the  pleasure,  though 
even  that  was  great. 

How  many  memories  crowd   in  upon   me !     I 


Musical  Recollections  17 

heard  Liszt  when  I  was  still  at  scliool  at  Leipzig. 
It  was  his  first  entry  into  Germany,  and  he  came 
like  a  triumpliator.  He  was  young,  theatrical,  and 
tembly  attractive,  as  ladies,  young  and  old,  used  to 
say.  His  style  of  playing  was  then  something 
quite  new — now  every  player  lets  off  the  same 
fireworks.  The  musical  critics  who  then  ruled 
supreme  at  Leipzig  were  somewhat  coy  and  re- 
served, and  I  remember  taking  a  criticism  to  the 
editor  of  the  Leipziger  Tageblatt  which  the  writer 
did  not  wish  to  sign  with  his  own  name,  Men- 
delssohn only,  with  his  well-tempered  heart,  re- 
ceived him  with  open  arms.  He  gave  a  matinee 
musicale  at  his  house,  all  the  best-known  musicians 
of  the  place  being  present.  I  remember,  though 
vaguely,  David,  Kalliwoda,  Hiller ;  I  doubt 
whether  Schumann  and  Clara  Wieck  were  pres- 
ent. Well,  Liszt  appeared  in  his  Hungarian  cos- 
tume, wild  and  magnificent.  He  told  Mendelssohn 
that  he  had  written  something  special  for  him. 
He  sat  down,  and  swaying  right  and  left  on  his 
music-stool,  played  first  a  Hungarian  melody,  and 
then  three  or  four  variations,  one  more  incredible 
than  the  other. 

We  stood  amazed,  and  after  everybody  had  paid 

his  compliments  to  the  hero  of  the  day,  some  of 

Mendelssohn's  friends  gathered  round  him,  and 

said:  "Ah,  Felix,  now  we  can   pack  up    ('jetzt 

2 


l8  Auld  Lang  Syne 

konnen  wir  einpacken ').  No  one  can  do  that ;  it 
is  over  with  us ! "  Mendelssohn  smiled ;  and 
when  Liszt  came  up  to  him  asking  him  to  play 
something  in  turn,  he  laughed  and  said  that  he 
never  played  now ;  and  this,  to  a  certain  extent, 
was  true.  He  did  not  give  much  time  to  practis- 
ing then,  but  worked  chiefly  at  composing  and 
directing  his  concerts.  However,  Liszt  would 
take  no  refusal,  and  so  at  last  little  Mendelssohn, 
with  his  own  charming  playfulness,  said :  "  Well, 
I'll  play,  but  you  must  promise  me  not  to  be 
angry."  And  what  did  he  play?  He  sat  down 
and  played  first  of  all  Liszt's  Hungarian  Melody, 
and  then  one  variation  after  another,  so  that  no 
one  but  Liszt  himself  could  have  told  the  differ- 
ence. We  all  trembled  lest  Liszt  should  be  of- 
fended, for  Mendelssohn  could  not  keep  himself 
from  slightly  imitating  Liszt's  movements  and 
raptures.  However,  Mendelssohn  managed  never 
to  ofi'end  man,  woman,  or  child.  Liszt  laughed 
and  applauded,  and  admitted  that  no  one,  not  he 
himself,  could  have  performed  such  a  hravura. 
Many  years  after  I  saw  Liszt  once  more,  at  the 
last  visit  he  paid  to  London.  He  came  to  the 
Lyceum  to  see  Irving  and  Ellen  Terry  act  in 
"Faust."  The  whole  theatre  rose  when  the  old, 
bent  Maestro  appeared  in  the  dress  circle.  When 
the  play  was  over,  I  received  an  invitation  from 


Musical  Recollections  19 

Mr.,  now  Sir  Henry,  Irving  to  join  a  supper  party 
in  lionour  of  Liszt.  I  could  not  resist,  though  I 
was  staying  with  friends  in  London  and  had  no 
latch-key.  It  was  a  brilliant  affair.  Rooms  had 
been  fitted  up  on  purpose  with  old  armour, 
splendid  pictui'es,  gorgeous  curtains.  We  sat 
down,  about  thirty  people;  I  knew  hardly  any- 
body, though  they  were  all  known  to  fame,  and 
not  to  know  them  was  to  profess  oneself  unknown. 
However,  I  was  placed  next  to  Liszt,  and  I  re- 
minded him  of  those  early  Leipzig  days.  He  was 
not  in  good  s]3irits ;  he  would  not  speak  English, 
though  Ellen  Terry  sat  on  his  right  side,  and,  as 
she  would  not  speak  German  or  French,  I  had  to 
interpret  as  well  as  I  could,  and  it  was  not  always 
easy.  At  last  Miss  Ellen  Terry  turned  to  me  and 
said :  "  Tell  Liszt  that  I  can  speak  German,"  and 
when  he  turned  to  listen,  she  said  in  her  girlish, 
bell-like  voice  :  "  Lieber  Liszt,  ich  Hebe  Dich."  I 
hope  I  am  not  betraying  secrets;  anyhow,  as  I 
have  been  indiscreet  once,  I  may  as  well  say  what 
happened  to  me  afterwards.  It  was  nearly  3  a.m. 
when  I  reached  my  friend's  house.  AYith  great 
difficulty  I  was  able  to  rouse  a  servant  to  let  me 
in,  and  when  the  next  morning  I  was  asked  where 
I  had  been,  great  was  the  dismay  when  I  said  that 
I  had  had  supper  at  the  Lyceum.  Liszt  had 
promised  to  come  to  stay  with  me  at  Oxford,  but 


20 


Auld  Lang  Syne 


the  day  when  T  expected  him,  the  following  note 
arrived  from  Amsterdam,  probably  one  of  the  last 
he  ever  wrote : — 


^/ 


A  few  weeks  after,  I  saw  liis  death  announced  in 
the  papers. 

And  thus  Liszt  left  the  stage.     I  saw  his  en- 


Musical  Recollections  21 

trance  and  his  exit,  and  when  I  asked  myself, 
What  has  he  left  behind  ?  I  could  only  think  of 
the  new  school  of  brilliant  executionists  of  which 
he  may  truly  be  called  the  founder  and  life-long 
apostle.  I  confess  that,  though  I  feel  dazzled  at 
the  impossibilities  which  he  and  his  pupils  per- 
form with  their  ten  fingers,  I  often  sigh  for  an  Alle- 
gro or  an  Andante  by  Haydn  and  Mozart  as  they 
were  played  in  my  young  days  with  simplicity  and 
purity  on  very  imperfect  instruments.  Players 
now  seem  to  think  of  themselves  only,  not  of  the 
musical  poets  whose  works  they  are  to  render. 
Mendelssohn,  Clara  Wieck  (Madame  Schumann) 
even  Moscheles  and  Hummel  acted  as  faithful 
interpreters.  On  listening  to  them,  exquisite 
as  theii  execution  was,  one  thought  far  more  of 
what  they  played  than  how  they  played.  That 
time  is  gone,  and  no  one  has  now,  or  will  ever  have 
again,  the  courage  to  bring  it  back.  If  one  wants 
to  enjoy  a  sonata  of  Haydn  one  has  to  play  it 
oneself  or  hum  it,  because  the  old  fingers  will  not 
do  their  work  any  longer. 

And  Mendelssohn  also,  whom  I  had  known  as  a 
young  man,  said  good-bye  to  me  for  the  last  time 
in  London.  It  was  after  the  first  performance  of 
his  "  Elijah  "  in  184:7.  He  too  said  he  would  come 
again  next  year,  and  then  came  the  news  of  his 
sudden  death.     I  saw  him  last  at  Bunsen's  house, 


22  Auld  Lang  Syne 

where  lie  played  at  a  matinee  musicale  always  ready 
to  please  and  oblige  his  friends,  always  amiable 
and  charming,  even  under  great  provocation.  Only 
once  I  remember  seeing  him  almost  beside  himself 
with  anger,  and  well  he  might  be.  He  possessed  a 
most  valuable  album,  with  letters,  poems,  pictures, 
compositions  of  the  most  illustrious  men  of  the 
age,  such  as  Goethe  and  others.  The  binding  had 
somewhat  suffered,  so  it  was  sent  to  be  mended, 
and  I  was  present  when  it  came  back.  It  was  at 
his  sister's  house,  Fanny  Hensel's,  at  Berlin. 
Mendelssohn  opened  the  album,  jumped  up  and 
screamed.  The  binder  had  cut  off  the  blue  skies 
and  tree-tops  of  all  the  Italian  sketches,  and  the 
signatures  of  most  of  the  poems  and  letters.  This 
was  too  much  for  Felix,  he  was  for  once  infelix. 
Still,  happy  and  serene  as  his  life  certainly  was, 
for  he  had  everything  a  man  of  his  talents  could 
desire,  there  were  bitter  drops  in  it  of  which  the 
world  knew  little,  and  need  not  know  anything  now. 
There  are  things  we  know,  important  things  which 
the  world  would  be  glad  to  know.  But  we  bury 
them  ;  they  are  to  be  as  if  they  had  never  been, 
like  letters  that  are  reduced  to  ashes  and  can 
never  be  produced  again  by  frionds  or  enemies. 

He  was  devoted  to  his  sister  Fanny,  who  was 
married  to  Hensel  the  painter,  an  intimate  friend 
of  my  father.     When  I  was  a  student  at  Berlin,  I 


Musical  Recollections  23 

was  mucli  in  their  house  in  the  Leipziger  Strasse, 
and  heard  many  a  private  concert  given  in  the 
large  room  looking  out  on  the  garden.  Mendels- 
sohn played  almost  every  instrument  in  the  or- 
chestra, and  had  generally  to  play  the  instrument 
which  he  was  supposed  to  play  worst.  When  he 
played  the  pianoforte,  he  was  handicapped  by  be- 
ing made  to  play  with  his  arms  crossed.  All  the 
celebrities  of  Berlin  (and  Berlin  was  then  rich  in 
celebrities)  were  present  at  those  musical  gather- 
ings, and  Mendelssohn  was  the  life  of  the  whole. 
He  was  never  quiet  for  a  moment,  moving  from 
chair  to  chair  and  conversing  with  eveiybody. 

Boeckh,  the  great  Greek  scholar,  lived  in  the 
same  house,  and  Mendelssohn  had  received  so 
good  a  classical  education  that  he  could  hold  his 
own  when  discussing  with  the  old  master  the  cho- 
ruses of  the  Antigone.  Mendelssohn  was,  in  fact, 
a  man  teres  et  rotundus.  He  was  at  home  in  clas- 
sical literature,  he  spoke  French  and  English,  he 
was  an  exquisite  draughtsman,  and  had  seen  the 
greatest  works  of  the  greatest  painters,  ancient 
and  modern.  His  father,  a  rich  banker  in  Berlin, 
had  done  all  he  could  for  the  education  of  his 
children.  He  was  the  son  of  Mendelssohn  the 
philosopher,  and  when  his  son  Felix  had  become 
known  to  fame,  he  used  to  say  with  his  slightly 
Jewish  accent :  "  When  I  was  young  I  was  called 


Musical  Recollections  25 

the  son  of  the  great  Mendelssohn ;  now  that  I  am 
old  I  am  called  the  father  of  the  great  Mendels- 
sohn; then,  what  am  I?"  Well,  he  found  the 
wherewithal  that  enabled  his  son,  and  his  other 
children  too,  to  become  what  they  were,  all  worthy 
of  their  great  grandfather,  all  worthy  of  the  name 
of  Mendelssohn. 

Felix  was  attached  to  both  his  sisters,  Fanny 
and  Eebekah  (Dirichlet),  but  he  was  more  partic- 
ularly devoted  to  Fanny  (Hensel).  They  had  been 
educated  together.  She  knew  Greek  and  Latin 
like  her  brother,  she  played  perfectly,  and  com- 
posed so  well  that  her  brother  published  several 
of  her  compositions  under  his  own  name.  They 
were  one  spirit  and  one  soul,  and  at  that  time 
ladies  still  shrank  from  publicity.  Everybody 
knew  which  songs  were  hers  (I  remember,  for  in- 
stance, "  Schoner  und  Schoner  schmiickt  sich  die 
Flur  "),  and  it  was  only  later  in  life  that  she  began 
to  publish  under  her  own  name.  I  give  the  begin- 
ning of  a  song  which  she  wrote  for  ni}'-  mother. 
The  words  are  my  father's,  the  little  vignette  was 
drawn  by  her  husband,  who  was  an  eminent  artist 
at  Berlin. 

The  struggles  which  many,  if  not  most  men  of 
genius,  more  particularly  musicians,  have  had  to 
pass  through  were  unkno-svn  to  Felix  Mendelssohn 
Bartholdy.     Some  people  go  so  far  as  to  say  that  ' 


26  Auld  Lang  Syne 

they  miss  tlie  traces  of  tliose  struggles  in  his  char- 
acter and  in  his  music.  And  yet  those  who  knew 
him  best  know  that  his  soul,  too,  knew  its  own  bit- 
terness. His  happiest  years  were  no  doubt  spent 
at  Leipzig,  where  I  saw  much  of  him  while  I  was 
at  school  and  at  the  University.  He  was  loved  and 
admired  by  everybody ;  he  was  undisputed  master 
in  the  realm  of  music.  He  was  at  first  unmarried, 
and  many  were  the  rumours  as  to  who  should  be 
his  bride.  News  had  reached  his  friends  that  his 
heart  had  been  won  by  a  young  lady  at  Frankfurt ; 
but  nobody,  not  even  his  most  intimate  friends, 
knew  for  certain.  However,  one  evening  he  had 
just  returned  from  Frankfurt,  and  had  to  conduct 
one  of  the  Gewandhaus  Concerts.  The  last  piece 
was  Beethoven's  Ninth  Symphony.  I  had  sung 
in  the  chorus,  and  found  myself  on  the  orchestra 
when  the  concert  was  over,  the  room  nearly  empty, 
except  his  personal  friends,  who  surrounded  him 
and  teased  him  about  his  approaching  engagement. 
His  beaming  face  betrayed  him,  but  he  would  say 
nothing  to  anybody,  till  at  last  he  sat  down  and 
extemporised  on  the  pianoforte.  And  what  was 
the  theme  of  his  fantasy  ?  It  was  the  passage  of 
the  chorus,  "  Wer  ein  holdes  Weib  errungen,  mische 
seinen  Jubel  ein."  That  was  his  confession  to  his 
friends,  and  then  we  all  knew.  And  she  was  in- 
deed "  ein  holdes  Weib  "  when  she  arrived  at  Leip- 


Musical  Recollections  27 

zig.  One  thing  only  she  lacked — she  could  not 
express  all  she  felt.  She  was  soon  called  the 
"  Goddess  of  Silence  "  by  the  side  of  her  devoted 
husband,  who  never  could  be  silent,  but  was  always 
bubbling  over  like  champagne  in  a  small  glass. 
They  were  a  devoted  couple,  not  a  whisper  was 
ever  heard  about  either  of  them,  though  Mendels- 
sohn had  many  friends,  the  greatest  of  all  being  his 
sister  Fanny.  With  her  he  could  speak  and  ex- 
change whatever  was  uppermost  or  deepest  in  his 
heart.  I  have  heard  them  extemporise  together 
on  the  pianoforte,  one  holding  with  his  little  finger 
the  little  finger  of  the  other.  Her  death  was  the 
heaviest  loss  he  ever  suffered  in  life.  He  was  so 
imaccustomed  to  suffering  and  distress  that  he 
could  never  recover  from  this  unexpected  blow. 
Nor  did  he  survive  her  long.  She  died  on  the 
14th  of  May,  1847 ;  he  followed  her  on  the  4th  of 
November  of  the  same  year. 

During  most  of  the  time  when  Mendelssohn  cel- 
ebrated his  triumphs  as  director  of  the  Gewandhaus 
Concerts,  young  Eobert  Schumann  was  at  Leip- 
zig, but  he  was  little  seen.  Mendelssohn,  so  bright 
and  happy  himself,  wished  to  see  the  whole  world 
around  him  bright  and  happy,  and  was  kind  to 
everybody.  The  idea  of  jealousy  was  impossible 
at  that  time  in  Mendelssohn's  heart.  Neither  could 
Schumann,  as  a  young  and  rising  musician,  have 


28  Auld  Lang  Syne 

thought  himself  then  to  be  in  any  sense  an  equal 
or  rival  of  Mendelssohn.  But  there  are  natures 
which  like  to  be  left  alone,  or  with  a  very  few  inti- 
mate friends  only,  and  which  shrink  from  the  too 
demonstrative  happiness  of  others.  It  is  not  envy, 
it  often  is  modesty ;  but  in  any  case  it  is  not  pleas- 
ant. Schumann  was  conscious  of  his  own  strength, 
but  he  was  still  struggling  for  recognition,  and  he 
was  also  struggling  against  that  adversity  of  fort- 
une which  seems  to  decree  poverty  to  be  the  lot 
of  genius.  There  was  another  struggle  going  on, 
a  struggle  which  is  generally  fought  out  in  pri- 
vate, but  which  in  his  case  was  carried  on  before 
the  eyes  of  the  world,  at  least  the  musical  world 
of  Leipzig.  He  was  devoted  to  a  young  piano- 
forte player,  Clara  Wieck.  But  her  father,  a  great 
teacher  of  music,  would  not  allow  the  marriage. 
He  had  devoted  years  of  his  life  to  the  musical 
education  of  his  daughter,  and  then,  as  she  was 
just  beginning  to  earn  applause  for  herself  and  her 
master,  as  well  as  the  pecuniary  reward  for  their 
combined  labours,  a  young  musician,  poor,  and 
not  yet  recognised,  wished  to  carry  her  oS.  Par- 
ents have  flinty  hearts,  and  the  father  said  "  No." 

Many  a  time  have  I  watched  young  Schumann 
walking  alone  in  the  neighbourhood  of  Leipzig, 
being  unexpectedly  met  by  a  young  lady,  both 
looking  not  so  happy  as  I  thought  that  under  the 


Musical  Recollections  29 

circumstances  tliey  ought.  This  went  on  for  some 
time,  till  at  last,  as  usual,  the  severe  or  flinty- 
hearted  father  had  to  give  way,  and  allow  a  mar- 
riage which  certainly  for  many  years  was  the  reali- 
sation of  the  most  perfect  happiness,  till  it  ended 
in  a  terrible  tragedy.  There  was  the  seed  of  mad- 
ness in  the  genius  of  Schumann  as  in  that  of  so 
many  really  great  men,  and  in  an  access  of  mania 
he  sought  and  found  rest  where  Ophelia  sought 
and  found  it. 

I  did  not  see  much  of  Schumann,  nor  of  Madame 
Schumann,  in  later  life,  though  in  concerts  in  Lon- 
don I  often  admired  her  exquisite  rendering  of  her 
husband's  compositions.  I  only  recollect  Schu- 
mann as  a  young  man  sitting  generally  in  a  corner 
of  the  orchestra,  and  listening  to  one  of  his  works 
being  performed  under  Mendelssohn's  direction.  I 
remember  his  very  large  head,  his  drooping  eyes ; 
I  hardly  ever  remember  a  smile  on  his  face.  And 
yet  the  man  must  have  been  satisfied,  if  not  happy, 
who  could  write  such  music  as  his,  who  could 
write,  "  Wohlauf  noch  getrunken  den  funklendeu 
Wein ! "  and  he  lived  to  see  his  own  creations  ad- 
mired more  even  than  those  of  Mendelssohn.  He 
lived  to  see  his  critics  turned  into  admirers;  in 
fact  he  educated  his  public,  and  gained  a  place  for 
that  thoughtful,  wistful,  fairy-like  music  which  is 
peculiarly  his  own. 


30  Auld  Lang  Syne 

Many  celebrated  musicianB  stayed  at  Leipzig 
during  Mendelssohn's  reign.  I  remember  Mosch- 
eles,  Thalberg,  Sterndale  Bennett,  Clara  Novel- 
lo,  young  and  fascinating,  and  many  more.  An- 
other friend  of  Mendelssohn  who  stayed  some 
time  at  Leipzig  was  Ferdinand  Hiller.  We  heard 
several  of  his  compositions,  symphonies  and  all 
the  rest,  performed  at  the  Gewandhaus  Concerts 
under  Mendelssohn's  direction.  In  his  life  there 
was,  perhaps,  too  little  of  the  dira  necessitas  that 
has  given  birth  to  so  many  of  the  masterpieces  of 
genius.  He  might,  no  doubt,  have  produced  much 
more  than  he  did ;  but  that  he  was  striving  to  the 
very  end  of  his  life  was  proved  to  me  by  an  inter- 
esting letter  I  received  from  him  about  a  year  be- 
fore his  death.  His  idea  was  to  write  a  great  ora- 
torio, and  he  wanted  me  to  supply  him  with  a  text. 
It  was  a  colossal  plan,  and  I  confess  it  seemed 
to  me  beyond  the  power  of  any  musician,  nay,  of 
any  poet.  It  was  to  be  a  historical  drama,  repre- 
senting first  of  all  the  great  religions  of  the  world, 
each  by  itself.  We  were  to  have  the  hymns  of  the 
Veda,  the  Gathas  of  the  Avesta,  the  Psalms  of  the 
Old  Testament,  the  Sermons  and  Dialogues  of 
Buddha,  the  trumpet-calls  of  Mohammed,  and, 
Tastly,  the  Sermon  on  the  Mount,  all  of  them  to- 
gether forming  one  mighty  symphony  in  which  no 
theme  was  lost,  yet  all  became  in  the  end  an  ac- 


Musical  Recollections  31 

companiment  of  one  sweet  song  of  love  domina- 
ting the  full  chorus  of  the  ancient  religions  of  the 
world.  It  was  a  grand  idea,  but  was  it  possible  to 
realise  it  ?  I  was  ready  to  help,  but  before  a  year 
was  over  I  received  the  news  of  Killer's  death, 
and  who  is  the  musician  to  take  his  place,  always 
supposing  that  he  could  have  achieved  such  a 
World  Oratorio  ? 

It  was  in  the  last  year  of  his  life  that  Mendels- 
sohn paid  his  last  visit  to  England  to  conduct  his 
last  oratorio,  the  "Elijah."  It  had  to  be  per- 
formed at  Exeter  Hall,  then  the  best  place  for 
sacred  music.  Most  of  the  musicians,  however, 
were  not  professionals,  and  they  had  only  bound 
themselves  to  attend  a  certain  number  of  rehears- 
als. Excellent  as  they  were  in  such  oratorios  as 
the  "  Messiah,"  which  they  knew  by  heart,  a  new 
oratorio,  such  as  the  "  Elijah,"  was  too  much  for 
them ;  and  I  well  remember  Mendelssohn,  in  the 
afternoon  before  the  performance,  declaring  he 
would  not  conduct. 

"Oh,  these  tailors  and  shoemakers,"  he  said, 
"  they  cannot  do  it,  and  they  will  not  practise !  I 
shall  not  go."  However,  a  message  arrived  that 
the  Queen  and  Prince  Albert  were  to  be  present, 
so  nothing  remained  but  to  go.  I  was  present, 
the  place  was  crowded.  Mendelssohn  conducted, 
and  now  and  then  made  a  face,  but  no  one  else 


32  Auld  Lang  Syne 

detected  what  was  wrong.  It  was  a  great  success 
and  a  great  triumph  for  Mendelssohn.  If  he 
could  have  heard  it  performed  as  it  was  per- 
formed at  Exeter  Hall  in  later  years,  when  his 
tailors  and  shoemakers  knew  it  by  heart,  he  would 
not  have  made  a  face. 

It  was  at  Bunsen's  house,  at  a  matinee  musicale, 
that  I  saw  him  last.  He  took  the  liveliest  inter- 
est in  my  work,  the  edition  of  the  Rig  Veda,  the 
Sacred  Hymns  of  the  Bralimaus.  A  great  friend 
of  his,  Friedrich  Eosen,  had  begun  the  same  work, 
but  had  died  before  the  first  volume  was  fin- 
ished. He  was  a  brother  of  the  wife  of  Mendels- 
sohn's great  friend,  Klingemann,  then  Hanove- 
rian Charge  d'Affaires  in  London,  a  poet  many 
of  whose  poems  were  set  to  music  by  Mendels- 
sohn. So  Mendelssohn  knew  all  about  the  Sacred 
Hymns  of  the  Brahmans,  and  talked  very  intelli- 
gently about  the  Yeda.  He  was,  however,  sub- 
jected to  a  very  severe  trial  of  patience  soon  after. 
The  room  was  crowded  with  what  is  called  the 
best  society  of  London,  and  Mendelssohn  being 
asked  to  play,  never  refused.  He  played  several 
things,  and  at  last  Beethoven's  so-called  "  Moon- 
light Sonata."  All  was  silence  and  delight ;  no 
one  moved,  no  one  breathed  aloud.  Suddenly  in 
the  middle  of  the  Adagio,  a  stately  dowager  sit- 
ting in  the  front  row  was  so  carried  away  by  the 


Musical  Recollections  33 

rliytlim,  rather  thau  by  anytliing  else,  of  Bcetlio- 
veu's  music,  that  she  begau  to  play  with  her  fan, 
and  accompanied  the  music  by  letting  it  open  and 
shut  with  each  bar.  Everybody  stared  at  her,  but 
it  took  time  before  she  perceived  her  atrocity,  and 
at  last  allowed  her  fan  to  collapse.  Mendelssohn 
in  the  meantime  kept  perfectly  quiet,  and  played 
on ;  but,  when  he  could  stand  it  no  longer,  he 
simply  repeated  the  last  bar  in  arpeggios  again 
and  again,  following  the  movements  of  her  fan  ; 
and  when  at  last  the  fan  stopped,  ho  went  on 
playing  as  if  nothing  had  happened.  I  dare  say 
that  when  the  old  dowager  thaidied  him  for  the 
great  treat  he  had  given  her,  he  bowed  without 
moving  a  muscle  of  his  inspired  face.  How  dif- 
ferent from  another  player  who,  when  disturbed 
by  some  noise  in  the  audience,  got  up  in  a  rage 
and  declared  that  either  she  or  the  talker  must 
leave  the  room. 

And  yet  I  have  no  doubt  the  old  lady  enjoyed 
the  music  in  her  own  way,  for  there  are  many 
ways  of  enjoying  music.  I  have  known  people 
who  could  not  play  a  single  instrument,  who  could 
not  sing  **  God  save  the  Queen  "  to  save  their  life, 
in  eloquent  raptures  about  Mendelssohn,  nay, 
about  Beethoven  and  Bach.  I  believe  they  are 
perfectly  honest  in  their  admiration,  though  how 

it  is  done  I  cannot  tell.     I  began  by  saying  that 
3 


34  Auld  Lang  Syne 

people  who  have  no  music  in  them  need  not  be 
traitors,  and  I  alluded  to  my  dear  friend  Stanley. 
He  actually  suffered  from  listening  to  music,  and 
■whenever  he  could,  he  walked  out  of  the  room 
where  there  was  music.     He  never  disguised  his 
weakness,  he  never  professed  any  love  or  admira- 
tion for  music,  and  yet  Jenny  Lind  once  told  me 
he  paid  her  the  highest  compliment  she  had  ever 
received.     Stanley  was  very  fond  of  Jenny  Lind, 
but  when  she  stayed  at  his  father's  palace  at  Nor- 
wich he  always  left  the  room  when  she  sang.     One 
evening  Jenny  Lind  had  been  singing  Handel's 
"  I  know  that  my  Eedeemer  liveth."     Stanley,  as 
usual,  had  left  the  room,  but  he  came  back  after 
the  music  was  over,  and  went  shyly  up  to  Jenny 
Lind.     "  You  know,"  he  said,  "  I  dislike  music  ; 
I  don't  know  what  people  mean  by  admiring  it.     I 
am  very  stupid,  tone-deaf,  as  others  are  colour- 
blind.    But,"   he   said  v/ith   some   warmth,   "to- 
night, when  from  a  distance  I  heard  you  singing 
that  song,  I  had  an  inkling  of  what  people  mean 
by  music.     Something  came  over  me  which  I  had 
never  felt  before ;  or,  yes,  I  had  felt  it  once  be- 
fore in  my  life."     Jenny  Lind  was  all  attention. 
"  Some  years  ago,"  he  continued,  "  I  was  at  Vien- 
na, and  one  evening  there  was  a  tattoo  before  the 
palace  performed  by  four  hundred  drummers.     I 
felt  shaken,  and  to-night  while  listening  to  your 


Musical  Recollections  3^; 

singing,  the  same  feeling  came  over  me  ;  I  felt 
deeply  moved."  "Dear  man,"  she  added,  "I 
know  he  meant  it,  and  a  more  honest  compliment 
I  never  received  in  all  my  life." 

However,  unmusical  as  Stanley's  house  was, 
Jenny  Lind,  or  Mrs.  Goldschmidt  as  she  was  then, 
often  came  to  stay  there.  "  It  is  so  nice,"  she 
said ;  "no  one  talks  music,  there  is  not  even  a 
pianoforte  in  the  house."  This  did  not  last  long 
however.  A  few  days  after  she  said  to  me  :  "I 
hear  you  have  a  pianoforte  in  your  rooms  at  All 
Souls'.  Would  you  mind  my  practising  a  little  ?  " 
And  practise  she  did,  and  delightful  it  was.  She 
even  came  to  dine  in  College,  and  after  dinner  she 
said  in  the  most  charming  way :  "  Do  you  think 
your  friends  would  like  me  to  sing  ?  "  Of  course, 
I  could  not  have  asked  her  to  sing,  but  there  was 
no  necessity  for  asking  my  friends.  In  fact,  not 
only  my  friends  listened  with  delight  to  her  sing- 
ing, but  the  whole  quadrangle  of  All  Souls'  was 
black  with  uninvited  listeners,  and  the  applause 
after  each  song  was  immense,  both  inside  and  out- 
side the  walls  of  the  College. 

Stanley's  feeling  about  music  reminds  me  of  an- 
other music-hater  at  Oxford,  the  late  Dr.  Gaisford, 
the  famous  Dean  of  Christ  Church.  It  was  he 
who  put  my  name  on  the  books  of  "  The  House,"  a 
very  great  honour  to  an  unknown  German  scholar 


36  Auld  Lang  Syne 

on  whom  the  University,  at  his  suggestion,  had  just 
conferred  the  degree  of  M.A.  What  the  Dean's 
idea  of  music  was  may  best  be  judged  from  his 
constantly  appointing  old  scouts  or  servants  who 
were  too  old  to  do  their  work  any  longer  as  bed- 
makers  to  be  singing  men  in  the  Cathedral  choir. 
The  Dean's  stall  was  under  the  organ,  and  one 
day  in  every  month,  when  "  The  voice  of  Thy 
thunder  was  heard  round  about,  and  the  light- 
nings shone  upon  the  ground,  and  the  earth  was 
moved  and  shook  withal,"  a  certain  key  in  the  or- 
gan made  the  seat  on  which  the  Dean  sat  vibrate 
under  him.  On  that  day,  before  he  left  the 
Cathedral,  he  invariably  thanked  the  organist.  Dr. 
Corfe,  for  the  nice  tune  he  had  played. 

Music,  in  fact,  was  at  a  very  low  ebb  at  Oxford 
when  I  arrived  there.  The  young  men  would  have 
considered  it  almost  infra  dignitatem  to  play  any 
instrument ;  the  utmost  they  would  do  was  now 
and  then  to  sing  a  song.  Yet  there  was  much  love 
of  music,  and  many  of  my  young  and  old  friends 
were  delighted  when  I  would  play  to  them.  There 
was  only  one  other  person  at  Oxford  then  who  was 
a  real  musician  and  who  played  well.  Professor 
Donkin,  a  great  mathematician,  and  altogether  a 
man  sui  generis.  He  was  a  great  invalid  ;  in  fact, 
he  was  dying  all  the  years  I  knew  him,  and  was 
fully  aware  of  it.    It  seemed  to  be  quite  admissi- 


Musical  Recollections  37 

ble,  therefore,  that  he,  being  an  invalid,  and  I,  be- 
ing a  German,  should  "  make  music  "  at  evening 
parties ;  but  to  ask  a  head  of  a  house  or  a  profess- 
or, or  even  a  senior  tutor,  to  play  would  have  been 
considered  almost  an  insult.  And  yet  I  feel  cer- 
tain there  is  more  love,  more  honest  enjoyment  of 
music  in  England  than  anywhere  else. 

And  how  has  the  musical  tide  risen  at  Oxford 
since  those  days  !  Some  of  the  young  men  now 
come  up  to  college  as  very  good  performers  on  the 
pianoforte  and  other  instruments.  I  never  know 
how  they  learn  it,  considering  the  superior  claims 
which  cricket,  football,  the  river,  nay,  the  classics 
and  mathematics  also  have  on  their  time  at  school. 
There  are  musical  clubs  now  at  Oxford  where  the 
very  best  classical  music  may  be  heard  performed 
by  undergraduates  with  the  assistance  of  some 
professional  players  from  London.  All  this  is  due 
to  the  influence  of  Sir  F.  Ouseley,  and  still  more 
of  Sir  John  Stainer,  both  professors  of  Music  at 
Oxford.  They  have  made  music  not  only  respect- 
able, but  really  admired  and  loved  among  the 
undergraduates.  Sir  John  Stainer  has  been  inde- 
fatigable, and  the  lectures  which  he  gives  both  on 
the  science  and  history  of  music  are  crowded  by 
young  and  old.  They  are  real  concerts,  in  which 
he  is  able  to  illustrate  all  he  has  to  say  with  the 
help  of  a  well-trdined  choir  of  Oxford  amateui-s. 


38  Auld  Lang  Syne 

As  to  myself,  I  have  long  become  a  mere  listener. 
One  learns  the  lesson,  whether  one  likes  it  or  not, 
that  there  is  a  time  for  everything.  Old  fingers 
grow  stiff  and  will  no  longer  obey,  and  if  one  knows 
how  a  sonata  of  Beethoven  ought  to  be  played,  it 
is  most  painful  to  play  it  badly.  So  at  last  I  said : 
"Farewell ! "  The  sun  has  set,  though  the  clouds 
are  roseate  still  with  reflected  rays.  It  may  be  that 
I  have  given  too  much  time  to  music,  but  what 
would  life  have  been  without  it  ?  I  do  not  like  to 
exaggerate,  or  say  anything  that  is  not  quite  true. 
Musical  ears  grow  sensitive  to  anything  false, 
whether  sharp  or  flat.  But  let  us  be  quite  honest, 
quite  plain.  Is  there  not  in  music,  and  in  music 
alone  of  all  the  arts,  something  that  is  not  en- 
tirely of  this  earth  ?  Harmony  and  rhythm  may 
be  under  settled  laws ;  and  in  that  sense  mathema- 
ticians may  be  right  when  they  call  mathematics 
silent  music.  But  whence  comes  melody  ?  Surely 
not  from  what  we  hear  in  the  street,  or  in  the 
woods,  or  on  the  sea-shore,  not  from  anything  that 
we  hear  with  our  outward  ears,  and  are  able  to  im- 
itate, to  improve,  or  to  sublimise.  Neither  history 
nor  evolution  will  help  us  to  account  for  Schubert's 
"  Trockne  Blumen."  Here,  if  anywhere,  we  see 
the  golden  stairs  on  which  angels  descend  from 
heaven  to  earth,  and  whisper  sweet  sounds  into 
the  ears  of  those  who  have  ears  to  hear.     Words 


Musical  Recollections  39 

cannot  be  so  inspired,  for  words,  we  know,  are  of 
the  earth  earthy.  Melodies,  however,  are  not  of 
this  earth,  and  the  greatest  of  musical  poets  has 
truly  said  : — 

Heard  melodies  are  sweet,  but  those  unheard  are  sweeter. 


LITERARY   RECOLLECTIONS 

I 

i  AM  the  son  of  a  poet,  and  I  have  tried  very  hard 
all  my  life  not  to  be  a  poet  myself,  if  poet  means  a 
man  who  tries  to  make  his  thoughts  dance  grace- 
fully in  the  chains  of  metre  and  rhyme.  In  my 
own  very  prosaic  work  I  have  had  to  suffer  all  my 
life  from  suppressed  poetry,  as  one  suffers  from 
suppressed  gout.  Poets  will,  no  doubt,  protest 
most  emphatically  against  so  low  a  view  of  their 
art.  They  assure  us  that  they  never  feel  their 
chains,  and  that  they  are  perfectly  free  in  giving 
expression  to  their  thoughts  in  rhyme  and  metre. 
Some  of  the  more  honest  among  them  have  even 
gone  so  far  as  to  confess  that  their  best  thoughts 
had  often  been  suggested  to  them  by  the  rhyme. 
Platen  may  be  quite  right  when  he  says  : 

Was  stets  und  aller  Orten  sich  ewig  jung  erweist 
1st  in  gebundenen  Worten  ein  ungebundener  Geist. 

(What  proves  itself  eternal  in  every  place  and  time 
Is  an  unfettered  spirit,  free  in  the  chains  of  rhyme.) 

True,  very  true.  You  may  get  that  now  and  then, 
but  in  our  modern  languages  it  is  but  seldom  that 

40 


Literary  Recollections  41 

thought  soars  up  quite  free  on  the  wings  of  rh3mae. 
Many  and  many  a  thought  sinks  down  because  of 
the  weight  of  the  rhyme,  many  and  many  a  thought 
remains  altogether  unspoken  because  it  will  not 
submit  to  the  strait  jacket  of  the  rhyme ;  many 
and  many  a  poor  thought  is  due  entirely  to  an  ir- 
repressible rhyme  ;  and  if  some  brilliant  thoughts 
have  really  been  suggested  by  the  rhyme,  would  it 
not  be  better  if  they  had  been  suggested  by  some- 
thing else,  whether  you  call  it  mind  or  soul  ?  The 
greatest  masters  of  rhyme,  such  as  Browning  in 
English  or  Eiickert  in  German,  and  even  H.  Heine, 
often  fall  victims  to  their  o"\vn  mastery.  They  spoil 
their  poems  in  order  to  show  that  they  can  find  a 
rhyme  for  anything  and  everything,  however  gro- 
tesque the  rhyme  may  be.  I  remember  once  be- 
ing bold  enough  to  ask  Tennyson  what  was  the 
use  or  excuse  of  rhyme.  He  was  not  offended,  but 
was  quite  ready  with  his  answer :  "  Rhyme  helps 
the  memory,"  he  said — and  that  answer  was  as 
honest  as  it  was  true.  But  what  is  useful  for  one 
purpose,  for  the  purpose  of  recollecting,  may  be 
anything  but  useful  for  other  purposes,  it  may  be 
even  hurtful,  and  in  our  case  it  has  certainly 
proved  hurtful  again  and  again  to  the  natural  flow 
and  expression  of  thought  and  feeling. 

Nor  should  I  venture  to   say  a  word    against 
Platen's  gehundene   Wortc.     It  was  only  the  very 


42  Auld  Lang  Syne 

necessity  of  finding  a  word  to  answer  to  time  which 
led  me  to  speak  of  chains  of  rhyme.  Gebundene 
Worte  are  not  necessarily  rhymed  words,  they  are 
measured  words,  and  these  are  no  doubt  quite 
natural  and  quite  right  for  poetry.  Metre  is  meas- 
ure, and  metrical  utterance,  in  that  sense,  was  not 
only  more  natural  for  the  expression  of  the  highest 
thoughts,  but  was  probably  everywhere  more  an- 
cient also  than  prose.  In  every  literature,  as  far  as 
we  know,  poetry  came  first,  prose  second.  Inspired 
utterance  requires,  nay  produces,  rhythmic  move- 
ments not  only  of  the  voice  (song  and  prosodia), 
but  of  the  body  also  (dance).  In  Greek,  chorus 
means  dance,  measured  movement,  and  the  Greek 
choruses  were  originally  dances;  nay,  it  can  be 
proved  that  these  dancing  movements  formed 
really  the  first  metres  of  true  poetry.  Hence,  it 
was  quite  natural  that  David  should  have  danced 
before  the  Lord  with  all  his  might.  Language  it- 
self bears  witness  to  the  fact  that  the  oldest  metres 
were  the  steps  and  movements  of  dancers.  As  the 
old  dances  consisted  of  steps,  the  ancient  metres 
consisted  of  feet.  Even  we  ourselves  still  speak  of 
feet,  not  because  we  imderstand  what  it  means,  but 
simply  because  the  Greeks  and  Romans  spoke  of 
feet,  and  they  said  so  because  originally  the  feet 
really  marked  the  metre. 

The  ancient  poets  of  the  Veda  also  speak  of  feet, 


Literary  Recollections  43 

and  they  seem  to  have  been  quite  aware  why  they 
spoke  of  metrical  feet,  for  in  the  names  of  some  of 
their  metres  we  still  find  clear  traces  of  the  steps 
of  the  dances  which  accompanied  their  poems. 
Trishtuhh,  one  of  their  ancient  metres,  meant  three- 
step;  Anushtubh,  the  later  Sloka,  meant  by-step* 
or  Reigen.  The  last  syllables  or  steps  of  each  line 
were  called  the  Vritta,  or  the  turn,  originally  the 
turn  of  the  dancers,  who  seem  to  have  been  allowed 
to  move  more  freely  till  they  came  to  the  end  of 
one  movement.  Then,  before  they  turned,  or  while 
they  turned,  they  marked  the  steps  more  sharply 
and  audibly,  either  as  iambic  or  as  trochaic,  and 
afterwards  marched  back  again  with  greater  free- 
dom. Hence  in  ancient  Sanskrit  the  end  or  turn 
of  each  line  was  under  stricter  rules  as  to  long  and 
short  steps,  or  long  and  short  syllables,  whereas 
greater  freedom  was  allowed  for  the  rest  of  a  line. 
Thus  Sanskrit  Vritta,  the  turn,  came  to  mean  the 
metre  of  the  whole  line,  just  as  in  Latin  we  have 
the  same  word  versus,  literally  the  turn,  then  verse, 
and  this  turn  became  the  name  for  verse,  and  re- 
mained so  to  the  present  day.  There  is  no  break 
in  our  history,  and  language  is  the  chain  that  holds 
it  together.  A  strophe  also  was  originally  a  turn- 
ing, to  be  followed  by  the  antistrophe  or  the  return, 
all  ideas  derived  from  dancing.  The  ancient  San- 
*See  M.  M.,  "  Vedic  Hymns,"  S.B.E.,  vol.  xxxii.,  p.  96. 


44  Auld  Lang  Syne 

skrit  name  for  metre  and  metrical  or  measured 
speed  was  Khandas.  The  verb  JT/iand  would  cor- 
respond phonetically  to  Latin  scandere,  in  the  sense 
of  marching,  as  in  a-sceiidere,  to  march  upward, 
to  mount,  and  de-scendere,  to  march  downward,  all 
expressing  the  same  idea  of  measured  movement, 
but  not  of  rhyme  or  jingle.  These  movements  were 
free  and  natural  in  the  beginning;  they  became 
artificial  when  they  became  traditional,  and  we  find 
in  such  works  as  the  Sanskrit  Vr«tta-ratnakara, 
"  the  treasury  of  verse,"  every  kind  of  monstrosity 
which  was  perpetrated  by  Hindu  poets  of  the  Ee- 
naissance  period,  and  perpetrated,  it  must  be  con- 
fessed, with  wonderful  adroitness. 

But  I  must  not  tire  my  friends  with  these  metri- 
cal mysteries.  What  I  want  them  to  know  is  that 
in  the  most  ancient  Aryan  poetry  which  we  possess 
there  is  no  trace  of  rhyme,  except  here  and  there 
by  accident,  and  that  everywhere  in  the  history  of 
the  poetry  of  the  Aryas,  rhyme,  as  essential  to 
poetry,  is  a  very  late  invention.  It  is  the  same  in 
Semitic  languages,  though  in  Semitic  as  well  as  in 
Aryan  speech,  in  fact,  wherever  grammatical  forms 
are  expressed  chiefly  by  means  of  terminations, 
rhyme  even  in  prose  is  almost  inevitable.  And 
this  was  no  doubt  the  origin  of  rhyme.  In  lan- 
guages where  terminations  of  declension  and  con- 
jugation and  most  derivative  suffixes  have  retained 


Literary  Recollections  45 

a  full-bodied  and  sonorous  form,  it  was  difficult 
to  avoid  the  jingle  of  rhyme.  In  Latin,  which 
abounds  in  such  constantly  recurring  endings  as 
orum,  arum,  ibus,  amus,  cdis,  amini,  tatem,  tatihus, 
inihus,  etc.,  good  prose  writers  had  actually  to  be 
warned  against  allowing  their  sentences  to  rhyme, 
while  poets  found  it  very  easy  to  add  these  orna- 
mental tails  to  their  measured  lines. 

There  can  be  little  doubt  that  it  was  the  rhymed 
Latin  poetry,  as  used  in  the  services  of  the  Eoman 
Catholic  Church,  which  suggested  to  the  German 
converts  the  idea  of  rhymed  verses.  The  pagan 
poetry  of  the  Teutonic  races  had  no  rhymes.  It 
was  what  is  called  alliterative.  In  the  German 
dialects  the  accent  remained  mostly  on  the  radical 
syllable  of  words,  and  thus  served  to  shorten  the 
terminations.  Hence  we  find  fewer  full-bodied 
terminations  in  Gothic  than  in  Latin,  while  in  later 
Teutonic  dialects,  in  English  as  well  as  in  German, 
these  terminations  dwindled  away  more  and  more. 
Thus,  we  say  Di'  chter  when  the  Komans  would 
have  Dicta'  tor,  Pre'  diger  for  praidica'  tor,  clia'  ncel 
for  cance'  lla.  In  order  to  bind  their  poetical  lines 
together  the  German  poets  had  recourse  to  initial 
letters,  which  had  to  be  the  same  in  certain  places 
of  each  verse,  and  which,  if  pronounced  with 
strong  stress  or  strain,  left  the  impression  of  the 
words  being  knitted  together  and  belonging  to- 


4©  Auld  Lang  Syne 

gether.  Here  is  a  specimen  which  will  show  that 
the  rules  of  alliteration  were  very  strictly  observed 
by  the  old  German  poets,  far  more  strictly  than  by 
their  modem  imitators.  The  old  rule  was  that  in 
a  line  of  eight  arses  there  should  be  two  words  in 
the  first  and  one  in  the  second  half  beginning  with 
the  same  letter,  consonant  or  vowel,  and  always  in 
syllables  that  had  the  accent.  Here  is  a  line  from 
the  old  "  Song  of  Hildebrand,"  dating  from  the 
eighth  century : — 

Hiltibraht  joh  Hadhubrant  Hiltibraht  and  Hadliubrant 
Untar  harjum  tuam,  etc.  Between  hosts  twain,  etc. 

Eiickert  has  imitated  this  alliterating  poetry  in 
his  poem  of  "  Eoland  "  : — 

Roland  der  Ries 
Im  Rathliaus  zu  Bremen 
Steht  er  im  Standbild 
Standhaft  und  wacht. 

Kingsley  has  attempted  something  like  it  in  his 
"  Longbeard's  Saga,"  but  with  much  greater  free- 
dom, not  to  say  licence : — 

Scaring  the  wolf  cub, 
Scaring  the  born-owl, 
Shaking  the  snow-wreaths 
Down  from  the  i^ine  boughs. 

But  to  return  to  our  modern  poetry  and  to  the 


Literary  Recollections  47 

poets  wliom  I  have  known,  and  of  whom  I  have 
something  to  tell,  does  it  not  show  the  power  of 
tradition  if  we  see  them  everywhere  forcing  their 
feet  into  the  same  small  slippers  of  rhyme  ?  And 
who  would  deny  that  they  have  achieved,  and  still 
are  achievmg,  wonderful  feats? — tours  deforce,  it 
is  true,  but  so  cleverly  performed  that  one  hard- 
ly sees  a  trace  of  the  force  emj)loyed.  No  doubt 
much  is  lost  in  this  process  of  beating,  and  ham- 
mering, and  welding  words  together  (a  poet  is 
called  a  Beimeschmied,  a  smith  of  rhymes,  in  Ger- 
man) ;  much  has  to  be  thrown  away  because  it 
will  not  rhyme  at  all  {silver  has  been  very  badly 
treated  in  English  poetry,  because  it  rhymes  with 
nothing,  at  present  not  even  with  gold),  but  what 
remains  is  often  very  beautiful,  and,  as  Tenny- 
son said,  it  sticks  to  the  memory.  One  wishes 
one  could  add  that  the  difficulty  of  rhjTne  serves 
to  reduce  the  number  of  unnecessary  poets  that 
spring  up  every  year.  But  rhyme  does  not 
strangle  these  numerous  childi-en  of  the  Muses, 
and  it  is  left  to  our  ill-paid  critics  to  perform 
every  day,  or  every  week,  this  mui'der  of  the  inno- 
cents. 

It  may  not  seem  very  filial  for  the  son  of  a  poet 
thus  to  blaspheme  against  poetry,  or  rather,  against 
rhyme.  Well,  I  can  admire  rhymed  poetry,  just 
as  I  can  admire  champagne,  though  if  the  wine 


48  Auld  Lang  Syne 

is  really  good  I  think  it  is  a  pity  to  make  it 
mousseux. 

H.  Heine,  who  certainly  was  never  at  a  loss  for 
a  rhyme,  writes,  at  the  end  of  one  of  his  maddest 
poems,  "  Die  Liebe  "  :  "  O  Phoebus  Apollo,  if 
these  verses  are  bad,  I  know  thou  wilt  forgive  me, 
for  thou  art  an  all-knowing  god,  and  knowest  quite 
well  why  for  years  I  could  not  trouble  myself  any 
longer  with  measuring  and  rhyming  words ! "  And 
he  adds :  "I  might,  of  course,  have  said  all  this 
very  well  in  good  prose."  He  ought  to  know,  but 
there  will  not  be  many  of  his  admirers  to  agree 
with  him.* 

I  hardly  remember  having  ever  seen  my  father, 
and  I  came  to  know  him  chiefly  through  his  poetry. 
He  belonged  to  the  post-Goethe  period,  though 
Goethe  (died  1832)  survived  him.  He  was  born 
in  1794,  and  died  in  1827,  and  yet  in  that  short 
time  he  established  a  lasting  reputation  not  only 
as  a  scholar,  but  as  a  most  popular  poet.  His  best 
known  poems  are  the  "  Griechenlieder,"  the  Greek 
songs  which  he  wrote  during  the  Greek  war  of  in- 
dependence. Alas !  in  those  days  battles  were  won 
by  bravery  and  the  sword,  now  by  discipline  and 
repeating  guns.  These  Greek  songs,  in  which  his 
love  of  the  ancient  Greeks  is  mingled  with  his  ad- 
miration for  heroes  such  as  Kanaris,  Mark  Boz- 

*  Autobiographie,  p.  224. 


Literary  Recollections  49 

zaris,  and  others  who  helped  to  shake  off  the 
Turkish  yoke,  produced  a  deep  impression  all 
over  Germany,  perhaps  because  they  breathed  the 
spirit  of  freedom  and  patriotism,  which  was  then 
systematically  repressed  in  Germany  itseK.  The 
Greeks  never  forgot  the  services  rendered  by  him 
in  Germany,  as  by  Lord  Byron  in  England,  in 
rousing  a  feeling  of  indignation  against  the  Turk, 
and  as  the  marble  for  Lord  Byron's  monument  in 
London  was  sent  by  some  Greek  admirers  of  the 
great  poet,  the  Greek  Parliament  voted  a  shipload 
of  Pentelican  marble  for  the  national  monument 
erected  to  my  father  in  Dessau. 

My  father's  lyrical  j)oems  also  are  well  known 
all  over  Germany,  particularly  the  cycles  of  the 
' "  Schone  Miillerin  "  and  the  "  "Winterreise,"  both 
so  marvellously  set  to  music  by  Schubert  and 
others.  He  certainly  had  caught  the  true  tone  of 
the  poetry  of  the  German  people,  and  many  of 
his  poems  have  become  national  property,  being 
sung  by  thousands  who  do  not  even  know  whose 
poems  they  are  singing.  As  a  specimen  showing 
the  highest  point  reached  by  his  poetry,  I  like 
to  quote  his  poem  on  Vineta,  the  old  town  over- 
whelmed by  the  sea  on  the  Baltic  coast.  The 
English  translation  was  made  for  me  by  my  old, 
now  departed,  friend,  J.  A.  Froude : — 
4 


50 


Auld  Lang  Syne 


VINETA. 


I. 


Aus  des  Meeres  tiefem,  tief- 

em  Grunde 
K 1  i  n  g  e  n     Abendglocken 

dumpf  und  matt, 
Uns  zu  geben  wunderbare 

Kunde 
Von  der  sclionenalteu  Wun- 

derstadt. 


From  the  sea's  deep  hollow 

faintly  pealing, 
Far-ofif  evening  bells  come 

sad  and  slow ; 
Faintly  rise,  the  wondrous 

tale  revealing 
Of  the  old  enchanted  town 

below. 


II. 

In    der     Fluthen     Schoss 

hinabgesunken 
Bleiben  unten  ihre  Triim- 

mer  stehn. 
Hire  Zinnen   lassen  goldne 

Funk en 
Wiederscheinend  auf    dem 

Spiegel  sehn. 


II. 

On  the  bosom  of  the  flood 

reclining 
Kuiued  arch  and  wall  and 

broken  spire, 
Down   beneath   the  watery 

mirror  shining 
Gleam  and  flash  in  flakes  of 

golden  fire. 


in. 

Und  der  Schiffer,  der  den 
Zauberschimmer 

Einmal  sah  im  hellen  Abend- 
roth, 

Nach  derselben  Stelle  schifft 
er  immei', 

Ob  audi  rings  umher  die 
Klippe  droht. 


in. 

And  the  boatman  who    at 

twilight  hour 
Once  that  magic  vision  shall 

have  seen, 
Heedless  how  the  crags  may 

round  him  lour, 
Evermore   will    haunt    the 

charmed  scene. 


Literary  Recollections 


51 


rv. 

Aus  des  Herzens  tiefem,  tief- 

em  Grunde 
Klingt  es  mir,  wie  Glocken, 

dumpf  Tind  matt : 
Ach !  sie  geben  wunderbare 

Kunde 
Von  der  Liebe,  die  geliebt 

es  hat. 


IV. 

From  the  heart's  deep  hol- 
low faintly  pealing, 

Far  I  hear  them,  bell-notes 
sad  and  slow, 

Ah!  a  wild  and  wondrous 
tale  revealing 

Of  the  drowned  wreck  of 
love  below. 


V. 

Eine  schone  Welt  is  da  ver- 

sunken. 
Ihre      Triimmer      bleiben 

unten  stehn, 
Lassen  sich  als  goldne  Him- 

melsfunken 
Oft    im     Spiegel     meiner 

Traume  sehn. 


V. 

There  a  world  in  loveliness 

decaying, 
Lingers  yet  in  beauty  ere  it 

die ; 
Phantom   forms  across  my 

senses  playing. 
Flash  like  golden  fire-flakes 

from  the  sky. 


VI. 

Und  dann  mocht'  ich  tau- 

chen  in  die  Tiefen, 
Mich     versenken    in    den 

Wiederschein, 
Und  mir  ist  als   ob    mich 

Engel  riefen 
In    die    alte    Wunderstadt 

herein. 


VI. 

Lights  are  gleaming,  fairy 
bells  are  ringing, 

And  I  long  to  plunge  and 
wander  free 

Where  I  hear  those  angel- 
voices  singing 

In  those  ancient  towers  be- 
low the  sea. 


52  Auld  Lang  Syne 

That  the  poet  did  not  consider  rhyme  an  essen- 
tial element  of  poetry,  he  has  shown  in  some  of 
his  assonantic  poems,  such  as  : 

Alle  Winde  schlafen 
Auf  dem  Spiegel  der  Flut ; 
Kiilile  Schatten  des  Abends 
Decken  die  Miiden  zu. 

Luna  hangt  sicli  Schleier 
Ueber  ihr  Gesiclit, 
Schwebt  in  dammernden  Traumen 
Ueber  die  Wasser  bin. 

Alias,  alles  stille 
Auf  dem  weiten  Meer, — 
Nur  mein  Herz  will  nimmer 
Mit  zur  Eulie  gehu. 

In  der  Liebe  Fluten 
Treibt  es  her  nnd  bin, 
Wo  die  Stiirme  nicbt  ruben, 
Bis  der  Nacben  siukt. 

Though  my  father  was  a  great  admirer  of 
Goethe,  he  seems  to  have  incurred  his  displeasure 
and  to  have  been  brought  into  personal  collision 
with  the  grand  old  poet.  Goethe  had  translated 
some  modern  Greek  songs ;  it  may  be,  as  my  father 
thought,  without  having  fully  mastered  the  diffi- 
culties of  the  spoken  Greek  language.     My  father 


Literary  Recollections  53 

published  a  complete  translation  of  Fauriel's  col- 
lection of  Greek  popular  poetry/^  and  Goethe  did 
not  like  comparisons  between  his  work  and  that 
of  anybody  else,  least  of  all  of  quite  a  young  poet. 
"  Die  schone  Miillerin  "  also  may  have  seemed  to 
Goethe  an  encroachment  on  a  domain  peculiarly 
his  own.  In  fact,  when  my  father,  with  my  mother, 
went  to  Weimar  to  pay  theii*  respects  to  Goethe, 
his  Excellency  was  somewhat  stiff  and  cold.  My 
mother,  also,  had  evidently  not  been  sufficiently 
careful  and  respectful.  She  was  the  granddaugh- 
ter of  the  famous  pedagogue  Basedow,  the  reformer 
of  national  education  all  over  Germany,  who  had 
been  a  friend  of  Goethe  in  his  youth.  Goethe 
speaks  of  him  in  his  poem,  "Prophete  rechts 
(Basedow),  Prophete  links  (Lavater),  das  Welt- 
kind  (Goethe)  in  der  Mitten."  And  he  also 
complains  bitterly  of  Basedow  in  his  "  Dichtung 
und  Wahrheit,"  as  being  never  without  a  pipe  in 
his  mouth,  and  as  lighting  his  pipe  with  most  of- 
fensive tinder — Stinhsclnuamm,  as  Goethe  calls  it. 
My  mother,  when  asked  by  Goethe,  "  Was  f  Lir  eine 
geborene "  she  was  (What  had  been  her  maiden 
name?),  could  not  resist  the  temptation,  and  re- 
plied, laughing :  "  Your  Excellency  ought  to  scent 
it;  I  am  the  gi-anddaughter  of  Basedow."     Hap- 

*  "Neugriecbiscbe  Volkslieder,"  gesammelt  von  C.  Fauriel, 
tibersetzt  von  Wilhelm  Miiller,  Leipzig,  1825. 


54  Auld  Lang  Syne 

pily  my  mother  was  very  beautiful,  aud  was  par- 
doned the  liberty  she  had  taken.  Still,  the  rela- 
tions between  my  father  and  Goethe  always  re- 
mained rather  strained,  and  all  that  I  find  in  his 
album  is  a  medallion  portrait  of  Goethe  with  the 
following  lines,  dated  7th  November,  1825 : — 

Meinen  feyerlich  Bewegten 

Mache  Dank  und  Freucle  kund ; 

Das  Gef  iihl  das  Sie  eiTegten 

Schliesst  dem  Dichter  selbst  den  Mund. 

He  was  on  much  warmer  terms  with  the  poets  of 

the   Swabian   school,   Uhland,    Schwab,   Justinus 

Kerner,  etc.     In  the  year  before  his  death,  1827, 

he  spent  some  time  with  them  in  Wiirtemberg,  and 

in  many  respects  he  may  be  reckoned  as  belonging 

to  their  school.     The  verses  which  Uhland  wrote 

in  my  father's  album  have  often  been  quoted  as  a 

curious  prophecy  of  his  early  death.     It   seems 

that  some  conversations  which  he  had  with  the 

Seherin   of  Prevorst  *   when  staying  in  Justinus 

Kerner's  house  near  Weinsberg,   had   filled  him 

and  his  friends  with  misgivings.     Uhland's  lines 

were : — 

Wohl  bliihet  Jedcm  Jalire 

Seiu  Frlihling,  siiss  und  licht, 

Audi  jener  grosse,  klare — 

Getrost,  or  fehlt  dir  niclit ; 

*  See  J.  Kerncr,  "  Die  Seherin  vou  rrevorst,"  1829. 


Literary  Recollections  55 

Er  ist  dir  noch  beschieden 
Am  Ziele  deiner  Balin, 
Du  almest  ilin  liieuieden 
Und  droben  bricht  er  an. 
Zu  freundlicher  Erinnerung  an, 

L.  Uhland. 
Stuttgart,  den  13  Sept.,  1827. 

Justinus  Kerner  himself  also  wrote  some  lines  in 
which  he  alludes  to  the  apparition  of  spirits.  His 
rooms,  as  my  mother  assured  me,  were  always  full 
of  them,  and  they  all  seemed  on  the  most  familiar 
terms  with  the  other  inmates. 

Nicht  wie  Geister,  nein !  wie  Sterne 
Kamt  ihr  freundlich  in  der  Nacht, 
Ja,  so  ernst  und  mild  wie  Sterne 
Hat  uns  euer  Bild  gelacht 
Oft  wenn  schweigt  der  Welt  Getiimmel 
"Wird's  so  treten  in  den  Himmel 
Den  die  Lieb  uns  angefacht. 

Justinus  Keeneb 
und  seine  Hausfrau, 

Ekiedericke. 
Weinsberg,  7,  15,  '27. 
am  Tage  euerer  niichtlichen 
Erscheinung. 

I  once  came  myself  in  personal  contact  with  Uh- 
land,  the  head  of  the  Swabian  school  of  poetry, 
when  he  was  already  an  old  man.  He  came  to 
Leipzig  when  I  was  a  student  there,  and  stayed  at 


56  Auld  Lang  Syne 

the  house  of  Professor  Haupfc,  the  famous  Latin 
and  German  scholar.  Uhland  was  a  very  shy  and 
retu'ing  man,  and  had  declined  every  kind  of  pub- 
lic reception.  However,  the  young  students  would 
not  be  gainsayed,  and  after  assembling  in  the  af- 
ternoon to  consider  what  should  be  done  to  show 
their  respect  to  the  German  poet  and  the  liberal 
German  politician,  they  marched  off,  some  600  or 
800  of  them,  drew  up  in  front  of  the  house  where 
they  knew  Uhland  was  staying,  and  sang  some 
of  Uhland's  songs.  At  last  Uhland,  a  little,  old, 
wrinkled  man,  appeared  at  the  window,  and  ex- 
pected evidently  that  some  one  should  address 
him.  But  no  arrangements  had  been  made,  and 
no  one  ventured  to  speak,  fearing  that  at  the  same 
time  two  or  three  others  might  step  forward  to  ad- 
dress the  old  poet.  After  waiting  a  considerable 
time,  the  position  became  so  trying  that  I  could 
bear  it  no  longer ;  I  stepped  forward,  and  in  a  few 
words  told  Uhland  how  he  was  loved  by  us  as  a  poet, 
as  a  scholar,  and  as  a  fearless  defender  of  the  rights 
of  the  people,  and  how  proud  we  were  to  have  him 
amongst  us.  "VVe  then  waited  to  hear  him  speak, 
but  he  could  not  overcome  his  shyness,  and  sent  a 
message  to  ask  some  of  us  to  come  into  his  room 
to  shake  hands  with  him.  Even  then  he  could  say 
but  very  little,  but  when  he  knew  that  I  was  the 
son   of  his  old  friend,  Wilhelm  Miiller,  he  was 


Literary  Recollections  57 

pleased.  To  me  it  was  like  a  vision  of  a  bj'gone 
age  wlien  I  looked  the  old  poet  in  the  eyes,  and 
whenever  I  hear  his  song,  "  Es  zogen  drei  Burschen 
wohl  iiber  den  Rhein,"  or  when  I  read  his  beau- 
tiful ballads,  I  see  the  silent  poet  looking  at  me 
with  his  kind  eyes,  unable  to  use  meaningless 
words,  but  simply  saying  "  Thank  you." 

Another  poet  who  was  a  friend  and  admirer  of 
my  father,  and  whom  I  saw  likewise  like  a  vision 
only  passing  before  me,  was  Heinrich  Heine.  He 
was  younger  than  my  father  (1799-1856),  and  evi- 
dently looked  up  to  him  as  his  master.  "  I  love 
no  lyric  poet,"  he  wrote,  "excepting  Goethe,  so 
much  as  Wilhelm  Miiller."  I  found  a  letter  of  his 
which  deserves  to  be  preserved.  Alas !  the  whole 
of  my  father's  library  and  correspondence  was 
destroyed  by  fire,  and  this  letter  escaped  only  be- 
cause my  mother,  a  great  admirer  of  Heine's 
poems,  had  preserved  it  among  her  own  books. 
Here  is  the  letter,  or  at  least  parts  of  it.  The 
original  was  sent  about  the  years  1841-43,  when  I 
was  a  student  at  Leipzig,  to  Brockhaus'  Blatter 
fur  Litter arische  Unterhaltung,  but  the  original  was 
never  returned  to  me.  It  has  often  been  quoted 
in  histories  of  German  literature,  and  I  give  the 
extracts  here  from  Gustav  Karpeles'  "  Heinrich 
Heine's  Autobiographic,"  Berlin,  1888,  pp.  149, 
150:— 


^8  Auld  Lang  Syne 

Hamburg,  7tli  June,  1826. 
I  am  great  enough  to  confess  to  you  openly  tliat  my 
Small  Intermezzo  metre  *  possesses  not  merely  accidental 
similarity  -ttdtli  your  own  accustomed  metre,  but  probably 
owes  its  most  secret  rhythm  to  your  songs — those  dear 
Muller-songs  which  I  came  to  know  at  the  very  time  when 
I  wrote  the  Intermezzo.  At  a  very  early  time  I  let  Ger- 
man folk-song  exercise  its  influence  upon  me.  Later  on, 
when  I  studied  at  Bonn,  August  Schlegel  opened  many 
metrical  secrets  to  me  ;  but  I  believe  it  was  in  your  songs 
that  I  found  what  I  looked  for — pure  tone  and  true  sim- 
plicity. How  pure  and  clear  your  songs  are,  and  they  are 
all  true  folk-songs.  In  my  poems,  on  the  contrary,  the 
form  only  is  to  a  certain  extent  popular,  the  thoughts  be- 
long to  our  conventional  society.  Yes,  I  am  great  enough 
to  repeat  it  distinctly,  and  you  will  sooner  or  later  find  it 
proclaimed  publicly,  that  through  the  study  of  your  seventy- 
seven  poems  it  became  clear  to  me  for  the  first  time  how 
from  the  forms  of  our  old  still  existing  folk-songs  new 
forms  may  be  deduced  which  are  quite  as  popular,  though 
one  need  not  imitate  the  unevennesses  and  awkwardnesses 
of  the  old  language.  In  the  second  volume  of  your  poems 
the  form  seemed  to  me  even  purer  and  more  transparently 
clear.  But  why  say  so  much  about  the  form  ?  What  I 
yearn  to  tell  you  is  that,  with  the  exception  of  Goethe, 
there  is  no  lyric  poet  whom  I  love  as  much  as  you. 

*  The  metre  used  in  his  volume  of  "  Tragodien  nebst  einera 
lyrischen  Intermezzo,"  Berhn,  1823.  I  possess  a  copy  of  it 
with  Heine's  dedication  :  "  Als  ein  Zeichen  seiner  Achtung  und 
mit  dem  besonderen  Wunsche,  dass  der  Waldhornistdas  lyrische 
Intermezzo  seiner  Aufmerksamkeit  wiirdige,  uberreiclit  dieses 
Buch  der  Verfasser." 


Literary  Recollections  59 

Another  fragment  of  the  same  letter  occurs  on 
page  195  (951).  Here  Heine,  referring  to  liis 
North  Sea  poems,  writes : — 

The  "  North  Sea  "  belongs  to  my  last  poems,  and  you  can 
see  there  what  new  keys  I  touch,  and  on  what  new  lines  I 
move  along.  Prose  receives  me  in  her  wide  arms,  and  in 
the  next  volume  of  my  "  Eeisebilder "  you  will  find  in 
prose  much  that  is  mad,  bitter,  offensive,  angry,  and  very 
polemical.  Times  are  really  too  bad  (1826),  and  whoever 
has  strength,  freedom,  and  boldness  has  also  the  duty 
seriously  to  begin  the  fight  against  all  that  is  bad  and 
puffed  up,  against  all  that  is  mediocre,  and  yet  spreads 
itself  out  so  broad,  so  intolerably  broad.  I  beg  you,  keep 
well  disposed  towards  me,  never  doubt  me,  and  let  us  grow 
old  together  in  common  striving.  I  am  conceited  enough 
to  believe  that  when  we  are  both  gone  my  name  will  be 
named  together  with  yours.  Let  us  therefore  hold  to- 
gether in  love  in  this  life  also. 

I  never  came  to  know  Heine.  I  knew  he  was 
in  Paris  when  I  was  there  in  1846,  but  he  was  al- 
ready in  such  a  state  of  physical  collapse  that  a 
friend  of  mine  who  knew  him  well,  and  saw  him 
from  time  to  time,  advised  mo  not  to  go  and  see 
him.  However,  one  afternoon  as  I  and  mj  friend 
were  sitting  on  the  Boulevard,  near  the  Eue  Eich- 
elieu,  sipping  a  cup  of  coffee,  "  Look  there,"  he 
said,  "there  comes  Heine  !  "  I  jumped  up  to  see, 
my  friend  stopped  him,  and  told  him  who  I  was. 
Jt  was  a  sad  sight.     He  was  bent  down,  and  dragged 


6o  Auld  Lang  Syne 

himself  slowly  along,  his  spare  greyish  hair  was 
hanging  round  his  emaciated  face,  there  was  no 
light  in  his  eyes.  He  lifted  one  of  his  paralysed 
eyelids  with  his  hand  and  looked  at  me.  For  a 
time,  like  the  blue  sky  breaking  from  behind  grey 
October  clouds,  there  passed  a  friendly  expression 
across  his  face,  as  if  he  thought  of  days  long  gone 
by.  Then  he  moved  on,  mumbling  a  line  from 
Goethe,  in  a  deep,  broken,  and  yet  clear  voice,  as 
if  appealing  for  sympathy  : — 

"  Das  Maulthier  sucht  im  Diistern  seinen  Weg." 
Thus  vanished  Heine,  the  most  brilhant,  spark- 
ling, witty  poet  of  Germany.  I  have  seen  him, 
that  is  all  I  can  say,  as  Saul  saw  Samuel,  and 
wished  he  had  not  seen  him.  However,  we  travel 
far  to  see  the  ruins  of  Pompeii  and  Herculaneura, 
of  Nineveh  and  Memphis,  and  the  ruins  of  a  mind 
such  as  Heine's  are  certainly  as  sad  and  as  grand 
as  the  crumbling  pillars  and  ruined  temples 
shrouded  under  the  lava  of  Vesuvius.  "  Eine 
schone  "Welt  ist  da  versunken,"  I  said  to  myself, 
and  I  went  home  and  read  in  Heine's  "  Buch  der 
Lieder."  "  Du  bist  wie  eine  Blume,"  "  Ich  habe 
im  Traum  geweinet,"  "  Ein  Taunenbaum  stelit  ein- 
sam."  "  Yes,"  I  said,  "  snow-white  lilies  spring 
from  muddy  ponds,  and  small  mushrooms  are  said 
to  grow  on  fresh-fallen  snow." 

Few  poets  in  Germany  have  been  or  are  still  so 


Literary  Recollections  61 

admired  and  loved  as  Heine,  but  few  poets  also 
have  been  so  viciously  maligned  as  Heine.  So- 
ciety, no  doubt,  bad  a  rigbt  to  frown  on  bim,  but 
against  such  calumnies  as  were  heaped  on  him  by 
envy,  hatred,  and  malice,  it  is  well  to  remember 
some  of  his  last  lines : — 

Hab'  eine  Jungfrau  nie  verf iihret 
Mit  Liebeswort,  mit  Schmeichelei, 
Ich  hab'  auch  nie  ein  Weib  beriihret, 
Wiissfc'  ich,  dass  sie  vermiihlet  sei. 
Wahrhaftig,  wenn  es  anders  ware, 
Mein  Name,  er  verdiente  nicht 
Zu  stralilen  in  dem  Buch  der  Ehre, 
Man  diirft'  mir  spucken  in's  Gesicht. 

That  is  strong  language  and  evidently  meant  as 
an  answer  to  his  spies  and  enemies.  But  why  will 
people  always  spy  into  the  most  iminteresting 
part  of  a  poet's  life?  Why  are  they  bent  on 
knowing  on  what  terms  Dante  stood  to  Beatrice, 
Petrarch  to  Laura,  Goethe  to  Frau  von  Stein, 
Heine  to  George  Sand.  Volumes  have  been  writ- 
ten on  their  intimate  relations,  and  yet  whom  does 
it  concern,  and  what  can  it  teach  us  ?  Let  the 
dead  bury  their  dead. 

Whilst  at  Leipzig  as  a  young  student  I  still  im- 
agined myself  a  poet,  and  from  time  to  time  some 
of  my  poems  appeared,  to  my  great  joy,  in  the  lo- 


62  Auld  Lang  Syne 

cal  papers.  I  even  belonged  to  a  poetical  society, 
and  I  remember  at  least  two  of  us  who  in  later 
times  became  very  popular  writers  in  Germany. 
One  was  a  Jew  of  the  name  of  Wolfsohn,  whose 
play,  "  Only  a  Soul,"  giving  the  tragedy  of  a  Kus- 
sian  peasant  girl,  proved  a  great  success  all  over 
Germany,  and  is  still  acted  from  time  to  time. 
He  died  young.  Another,  Theodor  Fontane,  is 
alive,  and  one  of  the  best  known  and  best  loved 
novel-writers  of  the  day.  He  was  a  charming 
character,  a  man  of  great  gifts,  full  of  high  spirits 
and  inexhaustible  good  humour.  He  began  life 
in  a  chemist's  shop,  and  had  a  very  hard  struggle 
in  his  youth,  which  may  have  prevented  his  grow- 
ing to  his  full  height  and  strength.  He  might 
have  been  another  Heine,  but  the  many  years  of 
hard  work  and  hopeless  drudgery  kept  him  from 
soaring  as  high  as  his  young  wings  would  have 
carried  him.  I  remember  but  little  of  his  poetry 
now,  there  remains  but  the  sense  of  pleasure  which 
I  derived  from  it  at  the  time.  Now  and  then,  as  it 
happens  to  all  of  us,  a  few  long-forgotten  lines  rise 
to  the  surface.  In  a  political  poem  of  his,  I  re- 
member a  young  Liberal  being  w^arned  with  the 
following  words  : — 

Sonst  spazierst  du  Dacli  Siberien 
In  die  langcn  Wiuterferieu, 
Die  zugleich  Huudstago  sind  ! 


Literary  Recollections  63 

And  I  have  never  forgotten  the  last  Hnes  of  his 
beautiful  poem,  "  Die  schciue  Eosamunde,"  where 
he  says  of  the  King  : — 

Ihn  traf  des  Lebens  grosster  Sclimerz  : 
Der  Schmerz  um  dieses  Leben  ! 

All  young  poets  in  Germany  were  then  liberal 
and  more  than  liberal,  all  dreamt  and  sang  of  a 
united  Germany.  But  being  thirty  years  ahead  of 
Bismarck,  they  were  unmercifully  sent  to  prison, 
and  often  their  whole  career  was  ruined  for  life. 
Living  much  in  that  society,  I  too,  a  harmless  boy 
of  eighteen,  was  sent  to  prison  as  a  person  highly 
dangerous  to  the  peace  of  Europe.  The  confine- 
ment in  the  academic  career  was  not  very  severe, 
however,  except  in  one  respect.  From  time  to 
time  one  was  allowed  to  go  out,  provided  one  kept 
on  good  terms  with  the  attendants.  But  the  seri- 
ous thing  was  that  as  one  became  a  popular  char- 
acter all  one's  friends  came  to  visit  one,  and  they 
expected  of  course  to  be  hospitably  entertained. 
The  consumption  of  beer  and  tobacco  was  consid- 
erable, and  so  was  the  bill  at  the  end  of  my  politi- 
cal incarceration.  More  of  that  perhaps  by-and- 
by.  Nearly  all  the  political  poetry  of  that  time, 
much  as  it  then  stirred  the  people,  is  now  forgot- 
ten; even  the  names  of  the  poets  are  kno%vn  to 
but  few,  though  they  have  found  their  way  into  the 


64  Auld  Lang  Syne 

varii3us  histories  of  German  literature.  I  remem- 
ber as  one  of  the  best,  Herwegli,  wlio  came  to 
Leipzig  when  I  was  a  student,  and  who,  of  course, 
w&s  feted  by  the  Burschenschaft  at  a  brilliant  sup- 
per. Much  beer  was  drunk,  much  tobacco  was 
smoked,  many  speeches  were  made.  The  police 
were  present,  and  the  names  of  all  who  had  taken 
part  were  entered  in  the  Black  Book,  mine  among 
the  rest.  Herwegli  was  a  real  poet,  unfortunately 
he  spent  nearly  all  his  poetical  genius  on  political 
invective.  How  well  I  remember  his  poem  in 
which  every  verse  ended  with  the  words : — 

Wir  haben  lang  genug  geliebt, 
"Wir  wollen  endlich  bassen  ! 

But  there  were  some  poems  of  his  which  well 
deserved  a  longer  life.  One  began  with  the  words : 
"  Ich  mochte  hingehen  wie  das  Abendroth."  Very 
beautiful,  but  my  memory  does  not  serve  me 
further,  and  my  copy  of  his  poems  has  vanished 
from  my  library  like  many  other  volumes  which  I 
lent  to  my  friends.* 

*  As  many  of  my  unknown  friends  have  come  to  my  assist- 
ance and  sent  me  Herwegh's  poem  I  feel  bound  to  give  it  here 
in  its  entirety  : — 

STROPHEN  AUS  DER  FREMDE. 
Ich  mochte  hingeh'n  wie  das  Abendroth, 
Und  wie  der  Tag  mit  seinen  letzten  Gluthen — 


Literary  Recollections  65 

I  well  remember  tlie  pleasure  which  Herwegh's 
poems  gave  me,  but  the  words  themselves  are  gone. 
It  is  the  same  with  so  many  of  our  recollections.  I 
can  still  feel  the  intense  delight,  the  hushed  rever- 

O  !  leichter,  sanfter  ungefiiblter  Tod  !— 
Mich  in  den  Schoosz  des  Ewigen  verbluten. 

Icli  mochte  hingeh'n  wie  der  heitre  Stern, 
In  vollstem  Glanz  in  ungeschwachtem  Blinken; 
So  stille  und  so  schmerzlos  mochte  gern 
Ich  in  des  Himmels  blaue  Tiefen  sinken. 

Ich  mochte  hingeh'n  wie  der  Blume  Duft, 
Der  freudig  sich  dem  schonen  Kelch  entringet 
Und  aiif  dem  Fittig  bluthenschwangrer  Luft 
Als  'Weibraiicb  auf  des  Ilerrn  Altar  sich  schwinget. 

Ich  mochte  hingeh'n  wie  der  Tliau  im  Thai, 
Wenn  durstig  ibm  des  Morgens  Fcuer  winken; 
O  wollte  Gott,  wie  ihn  der  Sonnenstrabl, 
Auch  meine  lebensmiide  Seele  trinken  ! 

Ich  mochte  hingeh'n  wie  der  bange  Ton, 

Der  au3  den  Saiten  einer  Harfe  dringet ; 

Und,  kaum  dem  irdischen  Metall  entfloh'n, 

Ein  Wohllaut,  in  des  Schopfers  Brust  verklinget. 

Du  wirst  nicht  hingeh'n  wie  das  Abendroth, 
Du  wirst  nicht  stille,  wie  der  Stern,  versinken, 
Du  stirbst  nicht  einer  Blume  leichten  Tod, 
Kein  Morgenstrahl  wird  deine  Seele  trinken. 

Wohl  wirst  du  hingeh'n,  hingeli'n  ohne  Spur, 
Doch  wird  das  Elend  dcine  Kraft  erst  schwtichen 
Sanft  stirbt  cs  einzig  sich  in  der  Xatur, 
Das  arme  Menschenherz  muss  stiickweis  brechen. 
6 


66  Auld  Lang  Syne 

ence  with  wliicli  I  looked  the  first  time  at  Kaph- 
ael's  Madonna  di  San  Sisto,  and  looked  at  it  again 
and  again  whenever  I  passed  through  Dresden. 
But  whether  the  colour  of  the  Virgin's  dress  is 
red  or  blue  I  cannot  tell.  I  dare  say  it  is  all  there, 
in  the  treasure-house  of  my  memory.  Nay,  some- 
times it  suddenly  appears,  only  never  when  I  call 
for  it.  What  is  forgotten,  however,  does  not  seem 
to  be  entirely  forfeited ;  it  can  be  gotten  again,  and 
it  probably  forms,  though  unknown,  the  fertile  soil 
for  new  harvests :  that  which  thou  so  west  is  not 
quickened  except  it  die. 

Another  famous  political  poet  whose  acquaint- 
ance I  made  when  he  was  an  old  man  was  Moritz 
Arndt.  His  poetry  was  not  very  great,  but  the 
effect  which  he  produced  by  his  "Was  ist  des 
Deutschen  Vaterland  "  has  been,  and  is  still,  per- 
fectly marvellous.  If  Bismarck  finished  the  unity 
of  Germany,  Arndt  laid  the  foundation  of  it,  and 
in  the  grateful  memory  of  the  people  his  song  will 
probably  be  remembered  long  after  Bismarck's 
diplomatic  triumphs  have  been  forgotten.  I  shall 
•  never  forget  old  Arndt,  for,  old  as  he  was,  he  gave 
mo  such  a  grip  of  the  hand  that  I  thought  the 
blood  would  squirt  from  my  nails. 

Lesser  poets  and  writers  whom  I  knew  at  that 
time,  while  I  was  a  student  at  Leipzig,  were  Karl 
Beck,  of  Hungarian  extraction,  Eobert  Blum  {fu- 


Literary  Recollections  67 

silU  at  Vienna  by  Windiscligratz,  9tli  November, 
1848),  Herlossolin,  Kiihne,  Laube,  and  several  more 
whose  names  I  could  find  in  Histories  of  German 
Literature,  or  the  Conversations-Lexicon,  but  no 
longer  in  the  camera  obscura  of  my  memory.  And 
yet  some  of  their  poems  were  really  beautiful,  full 
of  high  thoughts  and  deep  feeling.  But  the  world 
does  not  recognise  a  poet  of  one  poem,  or  even  of 
ten  or  twenty.  In  order  to  be  a  poet  a  man  must 
produce  hundreds  of  poems,  volume  after  volume, 
good,  bad,  and  indifferent.  Nor  is  there  here  any- 
thing like  the  survival  of  the  fittest.  Although 
ever  so  many  of  Schiller's  or  Goethe's  poems  have 
become  old  and  antiquated — few  will  deny  this — 
yet  no  one  is  satisfied  with  a  selection  of  the  best, 
few  people  would  ever  agree  as  to  which  are  the 
best.  We  must  take  them  all  or  none.  In  that  re- 
spect the  ancient  poets  are  certainly  much  better 
off.  What  is  left  of  Tyrtaeos  or  Sappho,  or  of 
Horace  and  Catullus,  can  be  carried  in  our  waist- 
coat pocket,  nay,  in  the  folds  of  our  brains ;  and 
though  even  here  sifting  might  increase  enjoyment, 
yet  we  can  take  in  whatever  there  is  Avithout  sink- 
ing under  the  burden.  But  who  can  remember 
Goethe  or  Wordsworth  or  Yictor  Hugo,  aye,  who 
has  time  even  to  read  all  their  verses,  so  as  to 
mark,  learn,  and  inwardly  digest  them  ? 

In  towns  like  Paris  and  London,  if  a  poet  once 


68  Auld  Lang  Syne 

succeeds   in    attracting   attention,   and   gathering 
some  male  and  female  admirers  around  him,  the 
very  atmosphere  which  he  breathes,  the  wide  sur- 
vey of  humanity  which  he  commands,  strengthen 
and   inspire   him.     No   one    becomes  an   Alpine 
climber  who  has  no  Alps  to  climb,  and  many  a 
poetical  soul  languishes  and  withers  if  confined 
within  the  walls  of  a   small  provincial  town.     I 
have  known  very  ordinary  mortals  who  when  they 
came  to  write  for  a  great  and  influential  newspaper 
became  inspired  like  the  prophetess  on  the  Del- 
phic tripod,  and  wrote  well,  while  their  ordinary 
writings  remain  feeble.     I  have  known  poets  in 
small  provincial  towns  who  became  changed  after 
they  had  changed  their  provincial  public  for  the 
public  of  a  large  capital.   I  remember  a  dear  cousin 
of  mine  at  Dessau,  Adolf  von  Basedow,  who  was 
my  playfellow  when  we  were  children,  and  remained 
my  true  friend  all  through  life.     He  had  a  quite 
exceptional  gift  for  occasional  poetry,  and  later  in 
life  he  wrote  many  things  without  ever  being  able 
to  find  a  proper  publisher.  Some  of  his  plays  were 
acted  and  proved  successful  on  neighboming  stages, 
but  he  never  received  that  response  which  inspires 
and  nerves  a  poet  for  higher  efforts.     He  was  very 
modest,  nay,  almost  shy,  and  in  these  days  humihty, 
however  charming  in  the  man,  is  not  likely  to  open 
the  road  to  success.     Now  that  he  is  gone,  there  are 


Literary  Recollections  69 

all  his  poetical  productions  laid  aside  and  soon  to 
be  forgotten,  while  some  of  the  poetry  we  are  asked 
to  admire  in  these  days  is  far  inferior  to  those  fallen 
leaves.  He  was  an  officer  and  went  through  the 
whole  of  the  Franco-German  war,  having,  like  so 
many  others,  to  leave  his  wife  and  children  at  home. 
He  returned  home  safe,  but  his  health  had  suf- 
fered, and  he  never  was  himself  again.  I  have  sel- 
dom known  a  more  high-minded  and  truly  chival- 
rous character,  content  with  the  small  surroundings 
in  which  he  had  to  move,  but  never  making  the 
smallest  concession  to  expediency  or  meanness. 
He  was  proud  of  his  name,  and  whatever  we  may 
think  of  the  small  nobility  in  Germany,  their 
manly  pride  keeps  up  a  standard  of  honour  with- 
out which  the  country  would  not  be  what  it  is. 
We  may  laugh  at  their  courts  of  honour  and  their 
duels,  arising  often  from  very  trifling  causes,  but 
in  our  age  of  self-seeking  and  pushing  we  want 
some  true  knights  as  the  salt  of  the  earth. 

While  I  was  at  the  University  at  Leipzig  I  well 
remember  meeting  Kobert  Blum  in  literary  circles. 
He  certainly  was  not  a  poet,  but  when  required  he 
could  speak  very  powerfully  and  wield  his  pen 
with  great  effect.  Never  shall  I  forget  the  horror  I 
felt  w^hen  I  heard  of  his  execution  at  Vienna.  No 
doubt  there  was  danger  when  the  mob  broke  into 
the  Kaiserburg,  shouting  and  yelling,  and  when 


yo  Auld  Lang  Syne 

Prince  Mettemich  said  to  the  Emperor,  who  had 
asked  him  what  this  hideous  noise  could  mean, 
"  Sire,  c'est  que  Messieurs  les  democrates  appellent 
la  voix  de  Dieu."  But  for  all  that,  to  shoot  a  mem- 
ber of  the  German  Parliament  then  sitting  at  Frank- 
furt was  an  outrage  for  which  Austria  has  had  to 
pay  dearly.  Still  more  cruel  was  the  execution  at 
the  same  time  of  a  little  helpless  Jew,  Jellineck, 
whom  I  had  known  as  belonging  to  a  small  class 
reading  Arabic  with  Professor  Fleischer  at  Leip- 
zig. Eobert  Blum  may  have  been  a  dangerous  man 
in  the  then  state  of  German  political  excitement, 
but  Jellineck  was  nothing  but  a  perfectly  harmless 
scholar,  and  if  he  was  found  guilty  by  a  court- 
martial,  it  could  only  have  been  because  he  could 
never  express  himself  intelligibly.  If  he  had  been 
killed  in  the  streets  of  Yienna  like  many  others,  all 
one  could  have  said  would  have  been,  "  Qu'allait-il 
faire  dans  cette  galere  ?  "  but  to  shoot  a  harmless 
student  after  a  short  court-martial  was  no  better 
than  lynching.  There  has  been  a  Nemesis  for  all 
that,  as  Austria  knows  too  well,  and  what  would 
the  world  be  without  that  invisible  Nemesis  ? 

With  every  year  my  own  work  became  more  and 
more  prosaic,  and  yet  more  and  more  absorbing. 
Neither  at  Berlin  nor  afterwards  at  Paris,  had  I 
time  or  inclination  to  make  new  friends  or  cultivate 
literary  society.     Berlin  never  was  rich  in  poets  or 


Literary  Recollections  71 

poetry ;  Paris  also,  when  I  was  there  in  ISM,  and 
again  in  1847  and  1848,  had  no  names  to  attract  me. 
Lamartine  had  some  fascination  for  me,  and  I  man- 
aged to  see  him  and  hear  much  about  him  from  a 
common  friend,  Baron  von  Eckstein.  This  German 
Baron  was  a  well-known  character  in  Paris  between 
1840  and  1850,  a  Gorman  settled  there  for  many 
years,  a  Roman  Catholic,  much  mixed  up,  I  be- 
lieve, in  small  political  transactions,  and  a  con- 
stant contributor  to  the  Augsburger  Zeikmg,  at  that 
time  the  Times  of  Germany.  He  was  a  man  of 
wide  interests,  a  student  of  Sanskrit,  chiefly  at- 
tracted by  the  mystic  philosophy  of  the  Upanishads 
and  the  Vedanta.  When  he  heard  of  my  having 
come  to  Paris  to  attend  Bumouf's  lectures  and 
to  prepare  the  first  edition  of  the  "Rig-veda," 
he  toiled  up  to  my  rooms,  though  they  were  au 
cinquieme  and  he  was  an  old  man  and  a  mart^T 
to  gout.  He  was  full  of  enthusiasm,  and  full  of 
kindness  for  a  poor  student.  I  was  very  poor  then ; 
I  hardly  know  now  how  I  managed  to  keep  my- 
self afloat,  yet  I  never  borrowed  and  never  owed 
a  penny  to  anybody.  I  disliked  giving  lessons,  but 
I  worked  like  a  horse  for  others,  copying  and  col- 
lating manuscripts  at  the  Bibliotheque  Boyale.  I 
lived  like  a  Hindu  Sannyasin,  but,  as  Heine  said, 

Und  icli  hab'  es  doch  ertragen — 
Aber  fragt  rnich  nur  niclit  wie. 


72  Auld  Lang  Syne 

Baron  Eckstein's  eyes  were  too  weak  to  allow 
him  to  copy  and  collate  Sanskrit  manuscripts,  and 
I  gladly  did  it  for  him.  I  recollect  copying  for 
him,  among  other  texts,  the  whole  of  the  Aitareya 
Brahmawa  in  Latin  letters.  I  still  possess  a  copy 
of  it.  He  paid  me  liberally,  and  he  often  invited 
me  to  lunch  with  him  at  his  cafe,  which  was  wel- 
come to  a  young  man  of  good  appetite,  who  had  to 
be  satisfied  with  wretched  dinners  at  the  Palais 
Eoyal,  but  not  at  Vefour's  or  the  Trois  Freres 
Proven 9aux.  Being  the  Paris  con-espondent  of  the 
leading  German  paper,  the  Baron  was  on  friendly 
terms  with  many  of  the  political  and  literary  celeb- 
rities of  the  time.  I  believe  he  was  in  receipt  of  a 
literary  pension  from  the  French  Government,  but 
I  do  not  know  it  for  certain.  He  offered  to  intro- 
duce me  to  George  Sand,  to  Lamennais,  to  the 
Comtesse  d'Agout  (Daniel  Stern),  to  Lamartine, 
Victor  Hugo,  and  others.  But  I  shut  my  eyes  and 
shook  my  head ;  I  had  no  time  then  for  anything 
but  the  Veda,  and  getting  ready  for  the  great  bat- 
tle of  life  that  was  before  me.  I  am  sorry  for  it 
now,  but,  without  self-denial,  we  can  never  do  any- 
thing. 

When  the  February  revolution  came.  Baron 
d'Eckstein  was  very  active.  His  friend  Lamar- 
tine was  then  in  the  ascendant,  and  through  him 
he  knew  all  that  was  going  on.     No  revolution,  I 


Literary  Recollections  73 

believe,  was  ever  made  with  so  little  preparation. 
There  was  no  conspiracy  of  any  kind.  A  night  or 
two  before  the  contemplated  banquet  to  Ledru 
Rollin,  Lamartine  was  asked  by  his  friends,  Eck- 
stein being  present,  whether  he  would  accept  office 
under  the  Duchesse  d'Orleans,  provided  she  was 
proclaimed  Regent  in  the  Chamber.  He  laughed 
as  if  it  were  an  idle  dream,  outside  the  sphere  of 
practical  politics,  as  we  now  say,  but  he  accepted. 
The  Duchesse  and  her  friends  counted  on  him, 
and  his  prestige  at  that  time  was  so  great  that  he 
might  have  carried  anything.  But  no  one  knows 
his  own  prestige,  and  when  the  moment  came, 
when  the  Duchesse  d'Orleans  was  present  in  the 
Chamber  and  Lamartine  was  expected  to  speak, 
there  was  confusion  and  fright;  some  shots  had 
been  fired  in  the  Assembly,  the  name  of  the  Re- 
public had  been  shouted,  the  Deputies  broke  up, 
and  the  Duchesse  had  to  fly.  Never  was  kingdom 
lost  with  so  little  excuse.  I  saw  the  whole  so- 
called  revolution  from  my  windows  at  the  corner 
of  the  Rue  Royale  and  the  Boulevard  de  la  Made- 
leine. I  may  have  to  describe  what  I  saw  at  some 
other  time.  At  present  I  am  thinking  of  the  poet- 
statesman  only,  of  Lamartine  and  his  brilliant 
speech  from  the  balcony  of  the  Hotel  de  Ville. 

Wliatever  Lamartine  was,  a  poet,  a  dreamer,  an 
aristocrat,  he  had  the  spirit   of   noblesse   in  him. 


74  Auld  Lang  Syne 

and  that  spirit  prevailed  at  the  time.  It  was  due 
to  him,  I  believe,  that  capital  punishment  was  then 
abolished  once  for  all  for  political  offences.  Sin- 
ister elements  came  to  the  surface,  but  they  had 
soon  to  hide  again.  I  remember  another  speaker 
at  the  Hotel  de  Ville,  speaking  after  Lamartine  in 
support  of  the  abolition  of  every  kind  of  title  and 
privilege,  and,  before  all,  for  the  abolition  of  the 
nobility.  He  was  eloquent,  he  was  furious,  and 
after  he  had  summed  up  all  the  crimes  committed 
by  the  French  nobility  and  laughed  at  those  who 
had  grown  rich  and  powerful  by  the  misdeeds  of 
their  noble  ancestors,  he  finished  up  in  a  loud 
voice,  "  Soyons  ancetres  nous-memes,"  a  sentiment 
loudly  applauded  by  the  unwashed  multitudes  who 
aspired  to  take  the  place  of  the  ancetres  whom 
they  had  just  heard  execrated  from  the  balcony 
of  their  terrible  Hotel  de  Ville. 

All  the  walls  in  the  streets  where  I  lived  were 
then  chalked  with  the  mysterious  words,  Liberie, 
Egalite,  Fraternite.  Not  far  from  my  house  there 
was  a  tobacconist's  shop,  called  Aux  trois  blagues, 
with  three  tobacco  pouches  painted  over  the  win- 
dow. My  friend,  the  tobacconist,  was  an  aristo,  so 
he  left  the  irois  blagties  and  simply  wrote  under- 
neath, Liberie,  Egalite,  Fraternitt. 

But  I  must  not  forget  another  poet,  the  greatest 
German  poet  I  have  ever  known,  and  of  whom  I 


Literary  Recollections  75 

saw  a  great  deal  at  Berlin  before  I  migrated  to 
Paris,  I  mean  Riickert.  It  is  strange  how  little 
Ms  poems  are  known  in  England  and  France.  He 
has  never  had  an  apostle,  nor  would  a  mere  herald 
do  him  much  service.  He  was  a  poet  somewhat 
like  Wordsworth,  who  must  be  laid  siege  to,  not 
till  he  surrenders,  but  till  we  surrender  to  him.  If 
he  is  known  at  all  in  England,  it  is  through  his 
lyric  poems,  which  have  been  set  to  music,  as  they 
deserved  to  be,  by  Schumann.  Who  has  not  heard 
"Du,  meine  Seele,  du,  mein  Herz,"  one  of  the 
grandest  songs  of  om*  age  ?  But,  alas !  either  the 
words  are  murdered  in  a  translation  which  would 
break  the  heart  both  of  the  poet  and  the  composer, 
or  the  German  words  are  often  pronounced  so 
badly  that  no  one  can  tell  whether  they  are  Eng- 
lish or  German  or  Sanskrit.  Eiickert  was  one  of 
the  richest  poets.  There  is  hardly  a  branch  of 
poetry  which  he  has  not  cultivated.  I  say  culti- 
vated on  purpose,  for  his  poetry  was  always  a 
work  of  art,  sometimes  almost  of  artifice.  He  was 
not  equally  successful  in  all  his  poetical  composi- 
tions :  particularly  towards  the  end  of  his  life  he 
disappointed  many  of  his  admirers  by  his  dramatic 
attempts.  He  is  like  Wordsworth  in  this  respect 
also,  that  one  cannot  enjoy  all  he  writes,  yet  in  the 
end  one  comes  to  enjoy  much  that  has  been  put 
aside  at  first,  because  it  comes  from  him. 


^6  Auld  Lang  Syne 

I  may  be  prejudiced,  yet  a  poet  wliose  verses 
Goethe  repeated  on  his  deathbed  is  not  likely  to 
be  overrated  by  me.  These  are  the  verses  which, 
we  are  told,  Goethe  murmured  before  he  ex- 
claimed, "More  light,  more  light!"  and  passed 
away : — 

UM  MITTEKNACHT. 

Um  Mitternaclit 

Hab'  icli  gewacht 
Und  aufgeblickt  zum  Himmel, 
Kein  Stern  am  Sterngewimmel 

Hat  mil*  gelaclit 

Um  Mitternacht. 

Um  Mitternaclit 

Hab'  ich  gedaclit 
Hinaus  in  dunkle  Schranken ; 
Es  hat  kein  Lichtgedanken 

Mir  Trost  gebraclit 

Um  Mitternacht. 

Um  Mitternacht 

Nahm  ich  in  Acht 
Die  Schliige  meines  Herzens ; 
Ein  einz'ger  Puis  des  Schmerzens 

War  angefacht 

Um  Mitternacht. 

Um  Mitternacht 

Kampf  t'  ich  die  Schlacht 


Literary  Recollections  77 


O  Mensclilieit,  deiner  Leiden ; 
Nicht  konnt'  ich  sie  entsclieiden 

Mit  meiner  Macht 

Um  Mitternaclit. 

TJm  Mittemacbt 

Hab'  ich  die  Macht 
In  deine  Hand  gegeben  : 
Herr  iiber  Tod  und  Leben, 

Du  haltst  die  Wacht 

Um  Mitternacht. 


If  I  had  a  strong  personal  liking  for  Riickert 
it  might  be  excused.  He  was  really  an  Eastern 
poet,  rich  in  colour,  but  equally  rich  in  thought. 

The  first  poems  of  his  I  knew  in  my  youth  were 
his  "Oestliche  Rosen."  My  father  reviewed  them 
("  Yermischte  Schriften,"  vol.  v.,  p.  290).  He  de- 
clared he  might  have  judged  them  by  one  let- 
ter, the  letter  K,  which  in  Roman  times  meant 
condemnation,  but  which  in  Riickert' s  case  would 
give  to  his  "  Oestliche  Rosen  "  their  right  title  of 
"K-ostliche  Rosen."  One  of  Riickert 's  greatest 
works,  a  real  treasury  of  meditative  thought  and 
mature  wisdom,  was  his  "Weisheit  des  Brah- 
manen,"  and  this  also  appealed,  no  doubt,  strong- 
ly to  my  own  personal  tastes.  His  translations 
of  Oriental  poetry,  Sanskrit,  Persian,  Arabic,  are 
perfect  masterpieces.     They  often  take  away  one's 


jS  Auld  Lang  Syne 

breath  by  the  extraordinary  faithfulness  and  mar- 
vellous reproduction  in  German  of  plays  on  words 
and  jingle  of  rhymes  that  seemed  to  be  possible 
once,  and  once  only,  whether  in  Persian,  Arabic, 
or  Sanskrit.  I  may  have  been  influenced  by  all 
this,  and  still  more  by  my  personal  regard  for  the 
poet,  but  for  all  that  I  should  strongly  advise  all 
who  care  for  poetry,  and  for  German  poetry,  to 
judge  for  themselves,  and  not  to  be  disheartened  if 
they  do  not  strike  gold  on  the  first  pages  they  open. 
To  know  Kiickert  personally  was  a  treat.  I 
had  heard  much  about  him  before  I  made  his  ac- 
quaintance, when  I  was  a  student  at  Berlin.  The 
Duchess  of  Anhalt-Dessau,  my  own  peculiar  duch- 
ess, had  in  her  youth  been  much  admired  by  the 
Crown  Prince  of  Prussia,  afterwards  Frederick 
William  IV.  She  was  herself  a  Prussian  princess, 
a  daughter  of  Prince  Frederick  Ludwig  Karl  of 
Prussia,  who  died  1796,  and  of  a  Princess  of  Meck- 
lenburg-Strelitz,  who  after  the  death  of  her  husband 
married  the  Duke  of  Cumberland,  and  became 
Queen  of  Hanover.  This  princess,  a  lady  of  great 
natural  gifts,  highly  cultivated  and  well  read,  was 
personally  acquainted  with  some  of  the  most  dis- 
tinguished men  in  Germany.  Even  in  the  narrow 
sphere  in  which  she  had  learnt  to  move  and  act  in 
Dessau,  she  did  much  good  in  trying  to  discover 
young  men  of  talent,  and  assisting  them  in  their 


Literary  Recollections  79 

studies.  She  had  always  been  very  gracious  to  me, 
and  even  as  a  boy  I  was  often  invited  to  play  with 
her  d  quatre  mains  at  the  Castle.  I  saw  her  for  the 
last  time  after  I  had  begun  my  Oriental  studies  at 
Leipzig,  and  before  I  went  to  Berlin.  She  told  me 
then  that  she  herself  had  known  a  little  Sanskrit, 
that  she  and  the  young  Crown  Prince  of  Prussia 
had  learnt  the  Sanskrit  alphabet,  and  had  corre- 
sponded in  it,  to  the  great  annoyance  of  people 
who  opened  or  read  all  letters  that  were  not  meant 
for  them.  "  When  you  go  to  Berlin,"  she  said, 
"  you  must  see  Riickert,  but  do  not  be  frightened. 
I  was  myself  most  anxious  to  see  him.  The  King 
invited  him  to  dinner,  together  with  a  number  of 
his  illustrious  menagerie.  I  asked  the  King  where 
Riickert  was  sitting,  the  poet  of  '  Frauenliebe '  and 

*  Liebesfriihling.'     '  Look  there,'   the   King  said. 

*  That  broad-shouldered  boor  with  his  elbows  on 
the  table,  eating  a  hunk  of  bread,  that  is  your 
poet ! '  And  a  dtsillusionnement  it  was,"  she  said. 
"  Still,  I  was  proud  to  have  seen  him  and  to  have 
talked  to  him."     So  I  was  prepared. 

Frederick  William  IV.  had  tried  hard  to  attract 
a  number  of  the  most  eminent  men  in  Germany  to 
BerKu.  Berlin  by  itself  is  not  attractive,  and  it 
seemed  as  if  the  men  who  were  then  best  known 
in  Germany  had  chosen  the  South,  rather  than  the 
North,  for  their  residence.     The  Brothers  Grimm 


8o  Auld  Lang  Syne 

Schelling,  Cornelius  and  many  more  were  tempted 
to  Berlin  by  large  salaries,  and  among  them  was 
Biickert  also,  not  so  much  the  Oriental  scholar  as 
the  poet.  He  went  to  Berlin,  after  long  hesitation 
and  misgivings,  and  announced  lectures  on  Arabic, 
Persian,  and  other  Oriental  languages.  But  he 
could  not  brook  the  restraints  of  official  life.  He 
had  a  little  Landgut,  Neusess,  near  Coburg,  and 
thither  he  felt  so  strongly  drawn  during  the  sum- 
mer that  he  soon  appealed  to  the  Minister  of  Pub- 
lic Instruction  for  leave  of  absence  during  each 
summer.  This  was  most  graciously  granted  by  the 
King,  but  soon  after  followed  a  petition  for  leave 
of  absence  during  a  particularly  severe  winter. 
This  too  was  granted,  though  the  Minister  ventured 
to  say :  "  But,  my  dear  Professor,  if  you  are  always 
absent  during  the  summer  semester,  and  now  ask 
for  leave  of  absence  during  the  winter  semester 
also,  when  do  you  mean  to  lecture  ?  "  Nor  was 
this  all.  When  I  called  on  the  Professor  to  enter 
my  name  for  his  lectures  on  the  "  Gulistan,"  a 
Persian  poem,  he  received  me  very  coldly.  He 
was  indeed  the  broad-shouldered  giant  whom  tlie 
Duchess  had  described  to  me.  He  wore  a  long 
dressing-gown,  and  his  hair,  parted  in  the  middle, 
was  hanging  wildly  about  his  temples. 

"  Why  do  you  want  to  learn  Persian  ?  "  he  said. 
I  humbly  explained  my  reason.     "  It  is  no  use  your 


Literary  Recollections  81 

learning  Persian,"  he  continued,  "if  you  do  not 
know  Arabic."  To  this  I  was  able  to  reply  that  I 
had  studied  Arabic  for  a  year  under  Professor 
Fleischer  at  Leipzig.  However,  the  Professor  was 
not  to  be  foiled.  He  wanted  to  get  away  to  Neu- 
sess,  but  at  the  same  time  to  be  able  to  satisfy  the 
Minister  that  he  had  done  his  duty  in  offering  to 
lecture.  *'  You  know,"  he  said,  "  tres  faciunt  colle- 
gium. I  cannot  lecture  for  one."  This  was  unan- 
swerable, according  to  German  academical  eti- 
quette. So  I  bowed,  and  went  into  the  highways 
and  hedges  to  secure  the  help  of  two  commilitones. 
Accompanied  by  them,  I  invaded  the  Professor 
once  more  in  his  den.  All  three  of  us  told  him 
that  we  were  most  anxious  to  learn  Persian. 

One  of  them  actually  did  wish  to  learn  Persian, 
and  became  afterwards  a  very  distinguished  scholar. 
He  was  then  called  Paul  Botticher,  but  he  is  best 
known  by  his  later  name,  Paul  de  Lagarde,  a  man 
of  extraordinary  power  of  work  and  an  enormous 
accumvdation  of  knowledge.  When  Eiickert  saw 
there  was  no  escape,  he  yielded,  at  first  not  with  a 
very  good  grace ;  but  he  soon  became  most  delight- 
ful. We  were  really  working  together,  and  when 
he  found  out  that  I  was  the  son  of  his  old  friend 
Wilhelm  Miiller,  nothing  could  exceed  his  kindness 
to  me.  At  first  he  often  confessed  to  his  pupils 
that  he  had  forgotten  his  Persian,  but  with  every 
6 


82  Auld  Lang  Syne 

week  it  seemed  to  come  back  to  liim.  Nothing 
more  was  said  about  Neusess,  and  the  fields  and 
meadows  and  woods  that  he  had  to  desert  for  our 
sakes.  Whatever  may  have  been  said  about  Eiick- 
ert  as  a  professor,  he  was  more  useful  in  his  infor- 
mal teaching  than  many  learned  professors  who 
year  after  year  read  their  lectui-es  to  large  admir- 
ing audiences. 

"  I  cannot  teach  you  Persian,"  he  used  to  say,  "I 
can  only  tell  you  and  show  you  how  to  learn  it.  I 
learnt  everything  I  know  by  myself,  and  so  can 
you.  We  will  work  together,  but  that  is  all  I  can 
do."  It  was  astounding  to  see  how  this  giant  had 
worked,  all  by  himself.  No  one  at  that  time 
thought,  for  instance,  of  studying  Tamil.  He 
showed  me  a  copy  of  a  complete  Tamil,  or  was  it 
Telugu,  dictionary  in  folio,  which  he  had  copied 
and  largely  added  to.  He  had  studied  Chinese  too. 
He  was  far  advanced  in  Sanskrit  and  Zend,  and  in 
Arabic  and  Persian  he  had  probably  read  more, 
though  in  his  own  way,  than  many  a  learned  pro- 
fessor. Such  an  honest  student  as  Eiickert  was 
could  do  more  good  to  his  pupils  in  one  hour  than 
others  by  a  whole  semester  of  lectui'ing.  And  this 
is  the  secret  of  the  success  of  German  professors. 
They  take  their  pupils  into  their  work-shops,  they 
do  not  keep  them  standing  and  gaping  at  the  show- 
window.    Thus  the  immense  advantage  which  Eng- 


Literary  Recollections  83 

lish  Universities  enjoy  in  being  able  to  combine 
professorial  with  tutorial  teaching,  is  made  up  for 
to  a  certain  extent  by  the  devotion  of  the  German 
professors,  who  give  up  their  time  in  their  semi- 
naries and  so-called  societies  for  the  benefit  of  stu- 
dents who  want  to  learn  how  to  work,  and  do  not 
wish  to  be  simply  crammed  for  examinations. 
They  make  friends  of  their  pupils,  their  pupils  are 
proud  to  do  much  of  the  drudgery  work  for  them, 
while  they  remain  for  life  their  grateful  pupils  and 
afterwards  their  loyal  colleagues.  After  term  was 
over,  there  was,  of  course,  no  holding  Buckert  in 
Berlin,  but  he  invited  me  to  see  him  at  Neusess, 
which  a  few  years  afterwards  I  did. 

There  I  found  the  old  man  working  in  his  farm- 
yard like  a  real  peasant,  pitchforking  manure 
into  his  cart,  and  carting  it  off  to  the  fields.  He 
was  delighted  to  see  me,  and  when  he  had  washed 
his  hands  he  came  into  his  study  to  shake  hands, 
and  to  talk  about  the  work  on  which  I  was  then 
engaged.  Eiickert  was  a  scholar  with  whom  one 
could  discuss  any  question  quite  freely.  Even  if 
one  had  to  differ  from  him,  he  was  never  offended 
by  contradiction.  When  we  could  not  agree  he 
used  to  say  :  "  "We  will  leave  this  for  the  present, 
and  discuss  it  another  time."  He  told  me,  among 
other  things,  how  my  father  had  saved  his  life. 

The  two  young   men  were   travelling   together 


84  Auld  Lang  Syne 

on  foot  in  Italy.  Italy  was  at  that  time,  in  tlie 
beginning  of  the  century,  the  cynosure  of  every 
German  student,  and  of  every  German  poet. 
Goethe  had  described  it,  and  they  all  wanted  to 
follow  in  Goethe's  footsteps,  and  pass  their  "  Wan- 
derjahre  "  in  the  "  Land  wo  die  Citronen  bliihn  ! " 
How  they  did  it  with  a  few  thalers  in  their 
pockets  we  can  hardly  understand,  but  it  was 
done. 

Euckert  and  my  father  were  travelling  on  foot, 
and  they  had  often  to  sleep  in  the  poorest  osterias. 
In  these  wretched  hovels  they  got  more  than  they 
had  bargained  for,  and  one  Jfine  morning,  after  get- 
ting out  into  the  fresh  air,  they  saw  a  lake,  and 
my  father  jumped  in  to  have  a  bath.  Euckert 
could  not  resist,  and  followed.  But  he  could  not 
swim,  the  lake  was  deeper  than  he  had  thought, 
and  he  was  on  the  point  of  drowning  when  my 
father  SAvam  towards  him  and  rescued  him.  "I 
wrote  my  first  epic  poem  then,  in  the  style  of 
Camoens,"  said  Euckert,  with  a  loud  chuckle, 
"  and  I  called  it  the  '  Lousiade,'  but  it  has  never 
been  published."  After  this  visit  I  lost  sight  of 
Eiickert,  as  of  many  of  my  German  friends.  But 
I  still  possess  the  manuscript  of  a  metrical  and 
rhymed  version  of  the  Sanskrit  poem  the  "  Meg- 
haduta,  the  Cloud  Messenger,"  Avhich  I  made  and 
afterwards  published   (in   18'17),  and  which   con- 


Literary  Recollections  85 

tains  a  number  of  corrections  and  suggestions 
made  by  Riickert  in  pencil.  "  I  translated  it  my- 
self," he  said  to  me,  '*  but  I  shall  not  publish  my 
translation  now." 

During  my  stay  in  Paris,  as  I  remarked,  there 
was  no  time  for  poets  or  poetry.  I  had  to  sit 
up  night  after  night  to  copy  and  collate  Sanskrit 
MSS.,  and  I  shall  never  forget  how  often  I 
screwed  down  my  green-shaded  lamp  in  the  morn- 
ing and  saw  the  sun  slowly  rising  over  the  Boule- 
vard, and  lighting  up  the  arch  of  the  Porte  St. 
Martin.  I  lived  au  cinquieme  in  a  corner  house  of 
the  Boulevard  de  la  Madeleine,  in  a  house  which 
exists  no  longer,  or  at  all  events  has  been  very 
much  changed,  so  that  on  my  last  visit  I  could  not 
find  my  windows  again. 


LITERARY   RECOLLECTIONS 

II 

When  I  bad  settled  in  England  in  1847,  my 
literary  acquaintances  began  afresh.  I  have  had 
the  good  fortune  of  being  on  more  or  less  intimate 
terms  with  such  poets  as  Kingsley,  Clough,  Mat- 
thew Arnold,  Tennyson,  Browning,  and  with  poets 
in  prose  such  as  Froude,  Ruskiu,  Carlyle,  and  I 
may  add,  in  spite  of  the  Atlantic,  Emerson,  Low- 
ell, and  Oliver  Wendell  Holmes.  I  knew  other 
writers  such  as  Macaulay,  Arthur  Helps,  Arthur 
Stanley,  Frederick  Maurice,  Dr.  Martineau ;  I  may 
add  even  the  names  of  Faraday,  Lyall,  Sedgwick, 
Thirlwall,  Grote,  Whewell,  Eichard  Owen,  Dar- 
win, Huxley,  among  my  personal  acquaintances  or 
friends. 

Kingsley  was  married  to  one  of  my  wife's  aunts. 
She  was  one  of  six  most  remarkable  sisters,  all 
married  except  the  eldest  and,  I  believe,  the  most 
gifted,  who  had  devoted  her  life  to  the  education 
of  her  younger  sisters.     Besides  Charles  Kings- 

8G 


Literary  Recollections  87 

ley,  the  liusbands  of  the  other  sisters  were  Froude, 
the  historian  ;  Lord  Wolverton,  of  high  standing 
in  the  financial  world  as  the  head  of  the  house  of 
Glyn,  and  the  valued  adviser  of  Mr.  Gladstone  in 
his  earlier  financial  reforms  ;  R.  Mertyns  Bird,  an 
illustrious  name  in  the  history  of  India  as  the 
organiser  of  the  North- Western  Provinces;  and 
"  S.  G.  O." 

How  soon  popularity  vanishes!  There  was  a 
time  when  everybody  knew  and  spoke  of  "  S.  G. 
O."  He  was  Lord  Sidney  Godolphin  Osborne, 
an  influential  writer  on  political  and  social  sub- 
jects, a  frequent  contributor  to  The  Times  during 
the  Crimean  "War,  a  man  of  great  force  and  inde- 
pendence of  character.  He  was  a  giant  in  stature, 
and  extremely  attractive  by  his  varied  knowledge 
in  different  branches  of  physical  science.  He  was 
a  well-known  microscopist,  and  when  it  was 
wanted,  a  doctor,  a  nurse,  a  surgeon,  a  dentist. 
However,  he  was  not  a  poet,  like  his  two  brothers- 
in-law.  He  was  an  active  clergyman,  a  sanitary 
reformer,  a  ready  helper  wherever  poor  people 
were  ready  to  be  helped.  These  five  men,  the 
husbands  of  five  remarkable  sisters — of  whom  one, 
Mrs.  Bird,  is  still  living  at  the  age  of  ninety-six 
(she  died  this  3'ear),  and  not  only  living,  but  alive 
to  all  that  is  interesting  in  the  world,  and  full  of 
good  works  —  represented   a   power  in   England. 


88  Auld  Lang  Syne 

*'S.  G.  O."  moved  in  a  sphere  of  liis  own,  and  sel- 
dom came  to  Oxford.  But  Kingsley  and  Froude 
soon  became  my  intimate  friends. 

If  I  call  Froude  a  poet  it  is  because,  as  I  ex- 
plained before,  I  do  not  consider  rhyme  as  essen- 
tial to  poetry.  But  for  really  poetical  power,  for 
power  of  description,  of  making  the  facts  of  his- 
tory alive,  of  laying  bare  the  deepest  thoughts  of 
men  and  the  most  mysterious  feelings  of  women, 
there  was  no  poet  or  historian  of  our  age  who 
came  near  him.  I  knew  him  through  all  his  phases. 
I  knew  him  first  when  he  was  still  a  fellow  of  Exe- 
ter College.  I  was  at  that  time  often  with  him  in 
his  rooms  in  High  Street,  opposite  to  St.  Mary's 
Church,  when  he  was  busy  writing  novels,  and  I 
well  remember  passing  an  evening  with  him  and 
trying  to  find  the  right  name  for  a  novel  which 
afterwards  appeared  under  the  title  of  "  Nemesis 
of  Faith."  I  saw  him  almost  daily  while  his  per- 
secution at  Oxford  was  going  on,  gaining  strength 
every  day.  He  had  to  give  up  his  fellowship,  on 
which  he  chiefly  depended.  I  will  not  repeat  the 
old  story  that  his  novel  was  publicly  burnt  in  the 
quadrangle  of  Exeter  College.  The  story  is  inter- 
esting as  showing  how  quickly  a  myth  can  spring 
up  even  in  our  own  life-time,  if  only  there  is  some 
likelihood  in  it,  and  something  that  pleases  the 
popular  taste.     What  really  happened  was,  as  I 


Literary  Recollections  89 

was  informed  at  the  time  by  Froude  himself,  no 
more  than  that  one  of  the  tutors  (Dr.  Sewell)  spoke 
about  the  book  at  the  end  of  one  of  his  College 
Lectures.  He  warned  the  young  men  against  the 
book,  and  asked  whether  anybody  had  read  it. 
One  of  the  undergraduates  produced  a  copy  which 
belonged  to  him.  Dr.  Sewell  continued  his  ser- 
monette,  and  warming  with  his  subject,  he  finished 
by  throwing  the  book,  which  did  not  belong  to 
him,  into  the  fire,  at  the  same  time  stirring  the 
coals  to  make  them  bum.  Of  what  followed  there 
are  two  versions.  Dr.  Sewell,  when  he  had  fin- 
ished, asked  his  class,  "  Now,  what  have  I  done?  " 
"You  have  burned  my  copy,"  the  owner  of  the 
book  said  in  a  sad  voice,  "  and  I  shall  have  to  buy 
a  new  one."  The  other  version  of  the  reply  was, 
"  You  have  stirred  the  fire,  sir." 

And  so  it  was.  A  book  which  at  present  would 
call  forth  no  remark,  no  controversy,  was  discussed 
in  all  the  newspapers,  and  raised  a  storm  all  over 
England.  Bishops  shook  their  heads,  nay  even 
their  fists,  at  the  young  heretic,  and  even  those 
among  his  contemporaries  at  Oxford  who  ought  to 
have  sympathised  with  him,  and  were  in  fact  quite 
as  unorthodox  as  he  was,  did  not  dare  to  stand  up 
for  him  or  lend  him  a  helping  hand.  Stanley 
alone  never  said  an  unkind  word  of  him.  The 
worst  was  that  Froude  not  only  lost  his  fellowship, 


90  Auld  Lang  Syne 

but  when  he  had  accepted  the  Headmastership  of 
a  college  far  away  in  Tasmania,  his  antagonists 
did  not  rest  till  his  appointment  had  been  can- 
celled. Froude  unfortunately  was  poor,  and  his 
father,  a  venerable  and  well-to-do  Archdeacon,  was 
so  displeased  with  his  son  that  he  stopped  the  al- 
lowance which  he  had  formerly  made  him.  It 
seems  almost  as  if  the  poverty  of  a  victim  gave 
increased  zest  and  enjoyment  to  his  pursuers. 
Froude  had  to  sell  his  books  one  by  one,  and  was 
trying  hard  to  support  himself  by  his  pen.  This 
was  then  not  so  easy  a  matter  as  it  is  now.  At 
that  very  time,  however,  I  received  a  cheque  for 
X200  from  an  unknown  hand,  with  a  request  that 
I  would  hand  it  to  Froude  to  show  him  that  he 
had  friends  and  sympathisers  who  would  not  for- 
sake him.  It  was  not  till  many  years  later  that  I 
discovered  the  donor,  and  Froude  was  then  able 
to  return  him  the  money  which  at  the  time  had 
saved  him  from  drowning.  I  should  like  to  men- 
tion the  name,  but  that  kind  friend  in  need  is  no 
longer  among  the  living,  and  I  have  a  feeling  that 
even  now  he  would  wish  his  name  to  remain  un- 
known. This  is  by  no  means  the  only  instance  of 
true  English  generosity  which  I  have  witnessed. 
But  at  the  time  I  confess  that  I  was  sui'prised, 
for  I  did  not  yet  know  how  much  of  secret  good- 
ness, how  much  of  secret  strength  there  is  in  Eng- 


Literary  Recollections  91 

land,  how  much  of  that  real  public  spirit,  of  that 
chivalrous  readiness  to  do  good  and  to  resist  evil 
without  lifting  the  vizor.  Froude  had  a  hard 
struggle  before  him,  and,  being  a  very  sensitive 
man,  he  suflfered  very  keenly.  Several  times  I  re- 
member when  I  was  walking  with  him  and  friends 
or  acquaintances  of  his  were  passing  by  without 
noticing  him,  he  turned  to  me  and  said  :  "  That 
was  another  cut."  I  hardly  understood  then  what 
he  meant,  but  I  felt  that  he  meant  not  only  that 
he  had  been  dropped  by  his  friends,  but  that  he 
felt  cut  to  the  quick.  Persecution,  however,  did 
not  dishearten  him ;  on  the  contrary,  it  called 
forth  his  energies,  and  the  numerous  essays  from 
his  pen,  now  collected  under  the  title  "Short  Stud- 
ies on  Great  Subjects,"  show  how  he  worked,  how 
he  thought,  how  he  followed  the  course  that  seemed 
right  to  him  without  looking  either  right  or  left. 
Bunsen,  who  was  at  the  time  the  Prussian  Minis- 
ter in  London,  and  had  heard  from  me  about 
Froude,  took  a  deep  interest  in  him,  and  after 
consulting  with  Archdeacon  Hare  and  Frederick 
Maurice,  suggested  that  he  should  spend  a  few 
years  at  a  German  university.  I  was  asked  to 
bring  my  young  friend  to  Carlton  Terrace,  where 
Bunsen  received  him  with  the  truest  kindness. 
What  he  tried  to  impress  on  him  was  that  the 
questions  Avhich  disturbed  him  required  first  of  all 


92  Auld  Lang  Syne 

a  historical  treatment,  and  that  before  we  attempt 
to  solve  difficulties  we  should  always  try  to  learn 
how  they  arose.  Froude  was  on  the  point  of  going 
to  Germany  with  the  assistance  of  some  of  Bun- 
sen's  friends  when  other  prospects  opened  to  him  in 
England.  But  frequently  in  later  life  he  referred 
to  his  interview  with  Bunsen  and  said,  "  I  never 
knew  before  what  it  meant  that  a  man  could  drive 
out  devils." 

I  confess  I  was  somewhat  surprised  when 
Froude  suddenly  told  me  of  his  plan  of  writing  a 
History  of  England,  beginning  with  Henry  VIII. 
My  idea  of  a  historian  was  that  of  a  professor 
who  had  read  and  amassed  materials  during  half 
his  life,  and  at  the  end  produced  a  ponderous 
book,  half  text,  half  notes.  But,  hazardous  as  the 
idea  of  writing  a  History  of  England  seemed  to 
me  for  so  young  a  man,  I  soon  perceived  that 
Froude  had  an  object  in  writing,  and  he  certainly 
set  to  work  with  wonderful  perseverance.  Few  of 
his  critics  have  given  him  credit  for  what  he  did 
at  Simancas  and  at  the  Record  Office  in  London. 
I  have  seen  him  at  work,  morning  and  evening, 
among  piles  of  notes  and  extracts.  I  know  how 
the  pages  which  are  such  pleasant  light  reading 
were  written  again  and  again  till  he  was  satisfied. 
Often  I  had  to  confess  to  him  that  I  never  copied 
what  I  had  once  written,  and  he  was  outspoken 


Literary  Recollections  93 

enough  to  tell  me,  "  But  you  ought ;  and  you  will 
never  write  good  English  if  you  don't."  He 
learnt  Spanish,  French,  and  German,  so  as  to  be 
able  to  read  new  and  old  books  in  these  lan- 
guages. He  always  kept  up  his  classical  read- 
ing, and  translated,  as  far  as  I  remember,  several 
Greek  texts  from  beginning  to  end.  To  these  he 
afterwards  referred,  and  quoted  from  them,  with- 
out always,  as  he  ought,  going  back  again  to  the 
original  Greek. 

It  is  not  for  me  to  say  that  he  did  not  make 
mistakes,  and  that  he  was  not  weak  in  some 
branches  of  historical  knowledge.  I  cannot  deny 
that  in  his  translations  also  there  are  mistakes, 
arising  from  haste  rather  than  from  ignorance. 
But  who  has  ever  examined  any  translation  from 
any  language,  without  finding  signs  of  what  seems 
carelessness  or  ignorance  ?  Four  eyes  see  more 
than  two.  We  have  translations  of  Plato  and 
Aristotle  in  Latin  and  in  almost  every  language 
of  Europe.  The  text  has  been  critically  examined 
for  hundreds  of  years,  and  every  difficult  passage 
has  been  explained  again  and  again.  But  is  there 
any  one  translation  which  could  be  called  immac- 
ulate ?  Was  not  even  the  last  translation  of  Plato 
which  is  so  deservedly  popular,  characterised  by 
the  late  Rector  of  Lincoln,  in  the  well-known 
words  of  a  French  writer,  as  ires  belle,  mats  peu 


94  Auld  Lang  Syne 

fidUe  ?  Now,  while  the  true  scholar,  when  exam- 
ining a  new  translation,  rejoices  over  every  new 
happy  rendering,  the  ill-natured  critic,  particularly 
if  he  wants  to  display  his  own  superior  knowl- 
edge, can  easily  pick  out  a  number  of  passages 
where  a  mistake  has  been  made,  or  where  he 
thinks  that  a  mistake  has  been  made,  and  then 
proceed  to  show  that  the  very  best  Greek  scholar 
of  the  day  does  not  know  "  what  every  schoolboy 
ought  to  know,"  etc.  There  are  many  passages  in 
Greek  and  other  authors  that  admit  of  more  than 
one  translation.  If  the  translator  adopts  one  and 
rejects  another,  the  game  of  the  critic  is  easy 
enough :  he  has  only  to  adopt  the  rejected  ren- 
dering, and  his  triumph  is  secured.  If  that  is  so 
in  Greek,  how  much  more  is  it  the  case  in  trans- 
lating passages  from  faded  documents  written  in 
antiquated  Spanish,  nay,  even  letters  of  Erasmus 
written  in  his  peculiar  Latin,  or  statutes  in  Nor- 
man-French. 

Translation  is  a  difficult  art,  and  scholars,  par- 
ticularly those  who  know  the  language  from 
which,  or  the  language  into  which,  they  translate 
as  well  as  their  own,  consider  a  good  translation 
almost  impossible.  I  have  had  some  experience 
in  translating,  and  I  know  something  of  the  treat- 
ment which  translators  may  expect  from  conceited 
critics.     The  Sacred  Books  of  the  East,  translated 


Literary  Recollections  95 

by  myself  and  a  number  of  friends,  the  best 
scholars  I  could  find,  have  not  escaped  that  kind 
of  pedantic  criticism.  Impartial  and  honest 
critics  have  recognised  the  difficulties  under  which 
scholars  labour  in  translating,  often  for  the  first 
time,  ancient  texts,  whether  Greek  or  Sanskrit. 
It  is  easy  enough  to  translate  a  text,  after  it  has 
once  been  translated ;  it  is  easy  even  to  improve 
in  a  few  places  on  the  translations  of  the  first 
pioneers.  But  to  translate  for  the  first  time  an 
ancient  text,  badly  edited  or  not  yet  edited  at  all, 
is  a  totally  different  thing,  and  those  who  under- 
take it  have  a  right  not  only  to  the  indulgence,  but 
to  the  gratitude  of  all  who  come  after  them.  No 
one  in  our  sphere  of  studies  would  call  himseK  a 
scholar  who  has  not  edited  a  text  never  edited  be- 
fore, or  at  least  translated  a  text  that  never  was 
translated  before.  There  are  some  critics  who 
think  they  have  done  their  duty  if  they  can  dis- 
cover a  few  flaws  in  a  translation,  though  they 
cannot  even  appreciate  the  labours  and  the  brill- 
iant though  silent  discoveries  of  a  first  translator. 
The  work  that  has  to  be  done  by  a  first  translator 
of  an  ancient  text  is  often  the  work  of  a  real  de- 
cipherer. He  has  to  grope  his  way  through  Egyp- 
tian darkness  like  the  first  interpreter  of  an  Egyp- 
tian or  Babylonian  inscription.  He  cannot  help 
making  mistakes.     But  though  we  know  now  how 


96  Auld  Lang  Syne 

often  even  a  Cbampollion  (died  1832)  was  mis- 
taken, do  we  not  feel  ashamed  if  we  read  what 
another  most  eminent  Egyptologist  and  Coptic 
scholar,  Amadeo  Peyron  (died  1870),  the  head  of 
the  Egyptian  Museum  at  Turin,  said  of  Champol- 
lion?  "I  have  known  ChampoUion,"  he  said, 
"  the  so-called  decipherer  of  hieroglyphics,  very 
well,  from  his  first  visits  to  our  Museum.  I  took 
him  for  an  ordinary  swindler,  and  his  publications 
have  afterwards  confirmed  me  in  my  views.  His 
philological  labours  have  remained  to  me  unsolved 
riddles."  ^ 

I  have  lately  had  another  experience.  I  had  to 
revise  my  translation  of  Kant's  "  Critique  of  Pure 
Reason,"  and  I  was  surprised  to  see  how  many  pas- 
sages there  were  which  I  had  to  alter,  not  because 
I  did  not  know  either  German  or  English,  but  be- 
cause in  many  places  a  translation  can  only  be 
approximately  faithful;  and  it  is  only  a  happy 
thought  that  enables  us  now  and  then  to  approach 
nearer  to  the  German  original,  though  in  that  case 
often  at  the  expense  of  the  English  idiom. 

In  the  case  of  Eroude,  we  must  remember  that, 
whatever  he  ^vrote,  he  had  to  meet  not  a  single 
critic  only,  but  a  whole  army.  As  far  as  one 
could  see,  a  kind  of  association  had  been  formed 
for  the  suppression  of  his  "  History."     Those  who 

*  See  Brugscb,  "  Mcin  Lebcn,"  p.  104. 


Literary  Recollections  97 

were  beliind  the  scenes  know  how  certain  of  his 
rivals  and  enemies  actually  banded  themselves  to- 
gether, as  if  against  a  common  enemy.    Now,  I  re- 
member seeing  in  Frasers  Magazine,  then  edited 
by  Froude,  a  review  of    Green's  "  History  of  the 
English  People,"  with  pages  and  pages  of  mistakes 
in  names,  in  dates,  in  facts.     Yet,  the  same  writers 
who  delighted  in  picking  holes  in  Fronde's  "  His- 
tory "  from  week  to  week,  from  month  to  month, 
from  year  to  year,  kept  up  a  constant  chorus  of  ap- 
plause for  Green's  "  History  of  the  English  Peo- 
ple "~no  doubt  rightly  so ;  but  why  not  mete  the 
same  measure  to  others  also  ?     One  of  his  review- 
ers openly  confessed  that  if  he  took  the  trouble  of 
reading  a  book  carefully,  he  could  not  afford  to 
review  it  in  one  paper  only,  he  had  to  write  at 
least  five  or  six  articles  to  make  it  pay.      This 
^povSo(j)ovia,  as  it  was  called,  went  on  year  after 
year,,  but,  strange  to  say,  Fronde's  work  was  not 
killed  by  it ;  on  the  contrary,  it  became  more  and 
more  popular.      In  fact,  together  with  his  other 
works,  it  enabled  him  to  live  independently  and 
even  comfortably  by  his  pen.     Things  have  come 
to  such  a  pass  that,  if  we  may  trust  the  experi- 
ence of  publishers,  nothing  sells  so  well  as  a  well- 
abused  book,  while  laudatory  notices  seem  to  pro- 
duce little  or  no  effect.     The  public,  it  seems,  has 
grown  too  wise.     Even  such  powerful  adjectives 


98  Auld  Lang  Syne 

as  epocli-making  (Epoche-macliend),  monumental 
and  even  pyramidal,  fall  flat.  Epoche-machend  has 
too  often  been  found  out  to  mean  no  more  than 
Foche-machend  {Poche  in  German  means  claque)^ 
and  ?nonumental  has  once  or  twice  proved  a  mis- 
print for  momental  or  momentary.  Few  scholars 
would  agree  with  M.  Le  Bon  that  "works  of  his- 
tory must  be  considered  as  works  of  pure  imag- 
ination, as  fanciful  accounts  of  ill-observed  facts." 
This  is  a  French  exaggeration.  But  neither  are 
books  of  history  meant  to  be  mere  chronicles. 
History  is  surely  meant  to  teach  not  only  facts, 
but  lessons  also ;  and,  though  historians  may  say 
that  facts  ought  to  speak  for  themselves,  they  will 
not  speak  without  a  vates  sacer.  I  am  the  last 
man  to  stand  up  for  an  unscholarlike  treatment  of 
history,  or  of  anything  else.  But  as  I  do  not  call 
a  man  a  scholar  who  simply  copies  and  collates 
MSS.,  makes  indices  or  collects  errata,  I  doubt 
whether  mere  Quellenstudium  will  make  a  histo- 
rian. Quellenstudium  is  a  sine  qua  non,  but  it  is 
not  everything  ;  and  whereas  the  number  of  those 
who  can  ransack  archives  and  libraries  is  large,  the 
world  has  not  been  rich  in  real  historians  whom 
it  is  a  delight  to  listen  to,  such  as  Herodotus, 
Thucydides,  Livy  and  Tacitus,  Montesquieu,  Gib- 
bon, and,  may  we  not  add,  Macaulay  and  Froude? 
None  of  these  historians,  not  even  Gibbon,  has 


Literary  Recollections  99 

escaped  criticism,  but  how  poor  should  we  be  with- 
out them ! 

Sir  Walter  Raleigh,  when  he  was  writing  his 
"  History  of  the  World  "  in  the  Tower  of  London, 
overheard  two  bo/s  quarrelling  over  the  facts  of  an 
incident  that  had  happened  the  day  before ;  and  he 
said  to  himself :  "  If  these  two  boys  cannot  agree 
on  an  event  which  occurred  almost  before  their 
own  eyes,  how  can  any  one  be  profited  by  the 
narration  which  I  am  writing,  of  events  which 
occurred  in  ages  long  past  ?  "  The  answer  which 
the  critical  historian  would  give  to  Raleigh  would 
probably  be :  "  Go  and  examine  the  two  boys ;  find 
out  their  home,  their  relations,  their  circumstances, 
particularly  the  opportunities  they  had  of  seeing 
what  they  profess  to  have  seen ;  and  try  to  dis- 
cover whether  there  was  any  bias  in  their  minds 
that  could  have  made  them  incline  towards  one 
side  rather  than  the  other.  Give  all  that  evi- 
dence, and  then  you  are  a  real  historian."  But  is 
that  true,  and  were  any  of  the  great  historians  sat- 
isfied with  that?  Was  not  their  heart  in  their 
work,  and  is  the  heart  ever  far  from  what  we  call 
bias?  Did  not  Herodotus,  in  describing  the  con- 
flict between  Greece  and  Asia,  clearly  espouse  the 
cause  of  Greece  ?  I  know  he  has  been  called  the 
father  of  lies  rather  than  of  history ;  but  he  has 
survived  for  all  that.    Did  not  Thucydides  through- 


lOO  Auld  Lang  Syne 

out  his  history  write  as  the  loyal  son  of  Athens  ? 
"Was  Tacitus  very  anxious  to  find  out  all  that 
could  be  said  in  favour  of  Tiberius?  Was  even 
Gibbon,  in  his  "Decline  and  Fall  of  the  Eoman 
Empii-e,"  quite  impartial?  Eanke's  "  History  of  the 
Popes,"  may  be  very  accurate,  but  for  thousands 
who  read  Macaulay  and  Froude  is  there  one  who 
reads  Eanke,  except  the  historian  by  profession? 
History  is  not  written  for  historians  only.  Macau- 
lay  wrote  the  history  of  the  English  Restoration 
as  a  partisan,  and  Froude  made  no  secret  on  which 
side  he  would  have  fought,  if  he  had  lived  through 
the  storms  of  the  English  Reformation.  If  Ma- 
caulay had  been  one  of  the  two  boys  of  Sir  Walter 
Raleigh,  he  would  probably  not  have  discovered 
some  of  the  dark  shadows  on  the  face  of  William 
III.  which  struck  the  other  boy ;  while  some  crit- 
ics might  possibly  say  of  Froude  that  in  drawing 
the  picture  of  Henry  VIII.  he  may  have  followed 
now  and  then  the  example  of  Nelson  in  the  use  of 
his  telescope.  Still,  in  describing  such  recent  pe- 
riods as  the  reign  of  Henry  YIII.,  historians  can- 
not, at  all  events,  go  very  far  wrong  in  dates  or 
names.  Froude  may  have  been  wrong  in  embrac- 
ing the  cause  of  Henry  VIII.  and  accepting  all  the 
excuses  or  explanations  which  could  be  given  for 
his  violent  acts.  But  Froude  is,  at  all  events,  hon- 
est, in  so  far  that  no  one  can  fail  to  see  where  his 


Literary  Recollections  loi 

sympathies  lie,  so  tliat  he  really  leaves  us  free  to 
decide  what  side  we  ourselves  should  take. 

When  the  historian  has  to  analyse  prominent 
characters,  and  bring  them  again  full  of  life  on  the 
stage  of  history,  is  it  not  the  artist,  nay  the  poet, 
who  has  to  do  the  chief  work,  and  not  the  mere 
chronicler?  In  Fronde's  case  the  difficulty  was 
very  great.  The  contemporary  estimates  of  Henry's 
character  were  most  conflicting,  and  without  taking 
a  line  of  his  own,  without  claiming  in  fact  the  same 
privilege  which  Henry's  contemporaries  claimed, 
whether  friends  or  foes,  it  would  have  been  impos- 
sible  for  him  to  create  a  character  that  should  be 
consistent  and  intelligible.  There  was  nothing  too 
jdendish  to  be  told  of  the  English  king  by  the 
Papal  party,  and  yet  Ave  cannot  help  asking  how 
such  a  caitiff,  as  he  is  represented  to  have  been  by 
Eomau  Catholic  agents,  could  have  retained  the 
love  of  the  English  people  and  secured  the  ser- 
vices of  some  of  the  best  among  the  noblemen  and 
gentlemen  of  his  time  ?  If  we  take  upon  ourselves 
to  reject  all  reports  of  Eoyal  Commissioners  in 
Henry's  reign  as  corrupt  and  mendacious,  would 
it  be  worth  while  to  write  any  history  of  the  Eng- 
lish people  at  all?  It  is,  no  doubt,  an  ungrateful 
task  to  whitewash  a  historical  character  that  has 
been  besmirched  for  years  by  a  resolute  party. 
Yet  it  has  to  be  done  from  time  to  time,  from  a 


102  Auld  Lang  Syne 

sense  of  justice,  and  not  from  a  mere  spirit  of  op- 
position. Carlyle's  heroes  were  nearly  all  the 
best-abused  men  in  Christendom :  Frederick  the 
Great,  Cromwell,  and  Goethe.  Every  one  of  these 
characters  was  lying,  as  Carlyle  said  himself,  under 
infinite  dung;  yet  every  one  of  them  is  now  ad- 
mired by  thousands,  because  they  trust  in  Carlyle. 
It  was  the  same  Carlyle  who  encouraged  Froude 
in  his  work  of  rehabilitating  Bluff  King  Hal,  and 
we  ought,  at  all  events,  to  be  grateful  to  him  for 
having  enabled  us  to  know  all  that  can  be  said  by 
the  king's  advocates.  If  Froude  wrote  as  a  par- 
tisan, he  wrote,  at  the  same  time,  as  a  patriot,  and 
if  a  patriot  sees  but  one  side  of  the  truth,  some 
one  else  will  see  the  other. 

Can  we  imagine  any  history  of  our  own  times 
written  from  the  pole  star,  and  not  from  amid  the 
turmoil  of  contending  parties?  Would  a  history 
of  the  reign  of  Queen  Victoria,  written  by  Glad- 
stone, be  very  like  a  history  written  by  Disraeli  ? 
However,  these  squabbles  of  reviewers  about  the 
histories  of  Macaulay  and  Froude  are  now  almost 
entirely  forgotten,  while  the  historical  dramas 
which  Macaulay  and  Froude  have  left  us,  remain, 
and  Englishmen  are  proud  of  possessing  two  such 
splendid  monuments  of  the  most  important  peri- 
ods of  their  history.  Macaulay's  account  of  Will- 
iam III.  remained  unfinished,  and  it  is  character- 


Literary  Recollections  103 

istic  of  Froude  that,  if  I  understood  him  rightly, 
he  gave  up  the  idea  of  finishing  the  reign  of  Queen 
Elizabeth,  because,  as  an  Englishman,  he  was  dis- 
appointed in  her  character  towards  the  end  of  her 
reign. 

I  saw  much  of  Froude  again  during  the  last  years 
of  his  life,  when  he  returned  to  Oxford  as  Kegius 
Professor  of  History,  having  been  appointed  by 
Lord  Salisbury.  "  It  is  the  first  public  recognition 
I  have  received,"  he  used  to  say.  He  rejoiced  in 
it,  and  he  certainly  did  credit  to  Lord  Salisbm-y's 
courageous  choice.  His  lectures  were  brilliant, 
and  the  room  was  crowded  to  the  end.  His  private 
lectures  also  were  largely  attended,  and  he  was  on 
the  most  friendly  and  intimate  terms  with  some  of 
his  pupils. 

There  is  no  place  so  trying  for  a  professor  as  Ox- 
ford. Froude's  immediate  predecessors,  Goldwin 
Smith,  Stubbs,  and  Freeman,  were  some  of  the  best 
men  that  Oxford  has  produced.  Their  lectures 
were  excellent  in  every  respect.  Yet  every  one 
of  them  had  to  complain  of  the  miserable  scant- 
iness of  their  audiences  at  Oxford.  The  present 
Bishop  of  Oxford,  Dr.  Stubbs,  in  his  "  Seventeen 
Lectures  on  the  Study  of  Mediaeval  and  Modern 
History"  (1886),  states  what  may  sound  almost  in- 
credible, that  ho  had  sometimes  to  deliver  his  lect- 
ures "  to  two  or  three  listless  men."     The   same 


104  Auld  Lang  Syne 

may  be  said  of  some  of  the  best  lectures  delivered 
in  the  University.  The  young  men  are  encour- 
aged in  each  college  to  attend  the  lectures  deliv- 
ered by  the  tutors,  and  are  given  to  understand 
that  professorial  lectures  "  do  not  pay  "  in  the  ex- 
aminations. These  examinations  are  chiefly  in  the 
hands  of  college  tutors.  Professor  Stubbs  was  not 
given  to  complain  about  anything  that  might  seem 
to  concern  himself,  yet  he  confesses  that  "  some- 
times he  felt  hurt  that  in  the  combined  lecture  list 
he  found  the  junior  assistant  tutor  advertising  a 
course  on  the  same  subject,  or  at  the  same  hours, 
as  his  own."  Nay,  he  goes  so  far  in  his  modesty 
as  to  say :  "  It  may  be  better  that  there  should  be 
a  dozen  or  fifteen  college  lecturers  working  away 
with  large  classes,  when  I  have  only  a  few  stray 
men,"  but  the  real  friends  of  the  University  would 
hardly  think  so.  As  things  are  at  present,  it  has 
been  said,  and,  I  believe,  truly  said,  that  nearly  all 
professorial  lectures  might  be  abolished,  and  the 
studies  of  the  undergraduates  would  go  on  just 
the  same.  Oxford  suffers  in  this  respect  from  a 
real  embarras  de  richesse.  The  University  is  rich 
enough,  though  by  no  means  so  rich  as  it  was  for- 
merly, to  keep  up  a  double  staff  of  teachers,  pro- 
fessorial and  tutorial.  It  supports  sixty-five  pro- 
fessors, readers,  and  lecturers,  and  probably  four 
or  five  times  as  many  tutors.     Many  of  the  tutors 


Literary  Recollections  105 

are  quite  equal  to  tlie  professors,  nay,  it  may  be, 
even  superior  to  them,  but  the  most  popular  tu- 
tor, whose  lectures,  when  in  college,  were  crowded, 
has  to  be  satisfied  with  two  or  three  listless  men 
as  soon  as  he  has  been  raised  to  the  professoriate. 
Fronde's  lectures  formed  an  exception,  but  even 
this  was  quoted  against  him. 

Fronde  was  not  only  the  most  fascinating  lect- 
urer, but  the  most  charming  companion  and  friend. 
His  conversation  was  like  his  writings.  It  nev- 
er tired  one,  it  never  made  one  feel  his  superior- 
ity. His  store  of  anecdotes  was  inexhaustible, 
and  though  in  his  old  age  they  were  sometimes 
repeated,  they  were  always  pleasant  to  listen  to. 
He  enjoyed  them  so  thoroughly  himself,  he 
chuckled  over  them,  he  covered  his  eyes  as  if  half 
ashamed  of  telling  them.  They  are  all  gone  now, 
and  a  pity  it  is,  for  most  of  them  referred  to  what 
he  had  actually  seen,  not  only  to  what  he  had 
heard,  and  he  had  seen  and  heard  a  good  deal, 
both  in  Church  and  State.  He  knew  the  little 
failings  of  great  men,  he  knew  even  the  peccadilloes 
of  saints,  better  than  anybody.  He  was  never  ill- 
natured  in  his  judgments,  he  knew  the  world  too 
well  for  that,  and  it  is  well,  perhaps,  that  many 
things  which  he  knew  should  be  forgotten.  He 
himself  insisted  on  all  letters  being  destroyed  thai 
had  been  addressed  to  him,  and  from  a  high  sense 


io6  Auld  Lang  Syne 

of  duty,  left  orders  that  his  own  letters,  addressed 
to  his  friends,  should  not  be  divulged  after  his 
death.  Though  he  left  an  unfinished  autobiogra- 
phy, extremely  interesting  to  the  few  friends  who 
were  allowed  to  read  it,  those  who  decided  that 
it  should  not  be  published  have  acted,  no  doubt, 
wisely  and  entirely  in  his  spirit. 

My  friend  Charles  Kingsley  was  a  very  differ- 
ent man.  He  was  a  strong  man,  while  Froude 
had  some  feminine  weaknesses,  but  also  some  of 
the  best  feminine  excellencies.  His  life  and  his 
character  are  well  known  from  that  excellent  bi- 
ography published  by  his  gifted  widow,  not  much 
more  than  a  year  after  his  death.  This  Life  of 
hers  really  gave  a  new  life  to  him,  and  secured  a 
new  popularity  and  influence  to  his  writings.  In 
him,  too,  what  I  admired  besides  his  delightful 
character  was  his  poetical  power,  his  brilliant  yet 
minute  and  accurate  descriptions  of  nature,  and 
the  characters  he  created  in  his  novels.  "With  all 
the  biographies  that  are  now  published,  how  little 
do  people  know  after  all  of  the  man  they  are  asked 
to  love  or  hate  !  In  order  to  judge  of  a  man,  we 
ought  to  know  in  what  quarry  the  marble  of  which 
he  was  made  was  carved,  what  sunshine  there  was 
to  call  forth  the  first  germs  of  his  mind,  nay,  even 
whether  he  was  rich  or  poor,  whether  he  had  Avhat 
we  rightly  call  an  independence,  and  whether  from 


Literary  Recollections  107 

his  youth  he  was  and  felt  himself  a  free  man. 
There  is  something  in  the  character  of  a  man  like 
Stanley,  for  instance,  which  we  have  no  right  to 
expect  in  a  man  who  had  to  struggle  in  life  like 
Kingsley.  The  struggle  for  life  may  bring  out 
many  fine  qualities,  but  it  cannot  but  leave  traces 
of  the  struggle,  a  certain  amount  of  self-assertion, 
a  love  of  warfare,  and  a  more  or  less  pronounced 
satisfaction  at  having  carried  the  day  against  all 
rivals  and  opponents.  These  are  the  temptations 
of  a  poor  man  which  do  not  exist  for  a  man  of  in- 
dependent means.  It  is  no  use  shutting  our  eyes 
to  this.  Every  fight  entails  blows,  and  wounds, 
and  scars,  and  some  of  them  remain  for  life. 
Kingsley  seems  to  have  had  no  anxieties  as  a 
young  man  at  school  or  at  the  University,  but 
when  he  had  left  the  University  and  become  a 
curate,  and,  more  particularly,  when  he  had  mar- 
ried on  his  small  curacy  and  there  were  children, 
his  struggles  began  in  good  earnest.  He  had 
often  to  write  against  time  ;  he  had  to  get  up  sub- 
ject after  subject  in  order  to  be  able  to  write  an 
article,  simply  that  he  might  be  able  to  satisfy  the 
most  troublesome  tradesmen.  He  always  wrote  at 
very  high  pressure ;  fortunately  his  physical  frame 
was  of  iron,  and  his  determination  like  that  of  a 
runaway  horse.  People  may  say  that  he  had  the 
usual  income  of  a  country  clergyman,  but  why  will 


io8  Auld  Lang  Syne 

they  forget  that  a  man  in  Kingsley's  position  had 
not  only  to  give  his  children  an  expensive  educa- 
tion, but  had  to  keep  open  house  for  his  numerous 
friends  and  admirers  ?  There  was  no  display  in 
his  quiet  rectory  at  Eversley,  but  even  the  sim- 
plest hospitality  entails  more  expense  than  a  small 
living  can  bear,  and  his  friends  and  visitors  ranged 
from  the  lowest  to  the  highest — from  poor  work- 
men to  English  and  foreign  royalties.  As  long  as 
he  could  wield  his  pen  he  could  procure  the  neces- 
sary supplies,  but  it  had  to  be  done  with  a  very 
great  strain  on  the  brain.  "  It  must  be  done,  and 
it  shall  be  done,"  he  said ;  yes,  but  though  most 
of  his  work  was  done,  and  well  done,  it  was  like 
the  work  of  an  athlete  who  breaks  down  at  the 
end  of  the  day  when  his  victory  is  won.  People 
did  not  see  it  and  did  not  know  it,  for  he  never 
would  yield,  and  never  would  show  signs  of  yield- 
ing. When,  towards  the  end  of  his  life,  a  canonry 
was  offered  him,  first  at  Chester,  then  at  Westmin- 
ster, he  felt  truly  grateful.  "  After  all,"  he  said  to 
me,  "  these  stalls  are  good  for  old  horses."  His 
professorship  at  Cambridge  was  really  too  much 
for  him.  He  was  not  prepared  for  it.  Personally 
he  did  much  good  among  the  young  men,  and  was 
certainly  most  popular.  At  Cambridge  as  a  pro- 
fessor he  did  his  best,  but  he  had  hardly  calcu- 
lated  Quid  valeant  Jmmeri,   quid  ferre    recusent. 


Literary  Recollections  109 

Anyhow,  tlie  work  soon  became  too  much  even  for 
his  iron  constitution,  and  he  was  glad  to  be  re- 
lieved. The  fact  is  that  Kingsley  was  all  his  life, 
in  everything  he  thought  and  in  everything  he 
did,  a  poet,  a  man  of  high  ideals,  and  likewise  of 
unswerving  honesty.  No  one  knew  Kingsley, 
such  as  he  really  was,  who  had  not  seen  him  at 
Eversley,  and  among  his  poor  people.  He  visited 
every  cottage,  he  knew  every  old  man  and  old 
woman,  and  was  perfectly  at  home  among  them. 
His  "  Village  Sermons "  gave  them  just  the  food 
they  wanted,  though  it  was  curious  to  see  every 
Sunday  a  large  sprinkling  of  young  officers  from 
Sandhurst  and  Aldershot  sitting  quietly  among  the 
smock-frocked  congregation,  and  anxious  to  have 
some  serious  conversation  with  the  preacher  after- 
wards. Kingsley  was  a  great  martyr  to  stammer- 
ing, it  often  was  torture  to  him  in  a  lively  conver- 
sation to  keep  us  all  waiting  till  his  thoughts 
could  break  through  again.  In  church,  however, 
whether  he  was  reading  or  speaking  extempore, 
there  was  no  sign  of  stammering  ;  apparently 
there  was  no  effort  to  overcome  it.  But  when  we 
walked  home  from  church  he  would  say  :  "  Oh,  let 
me  stammer  now,  you  won't  mind  it." 

He  was  not  a  learned  theologian,  his  one  idea 
of  Christianity  was  practical  Christianity,  honesty, 
purity,  love.     He  was  always  most  courteous,  most 


1 1  o  Auld  Lang  Syne 

willing  to  bow  befoi's  higher  autliority  or  greater 
learning;  but  when  he  thought  there  was  any- 
thing wrong,  or  mean,  or  cowardly,  anything  with 
which  he,  as  an  honest  man,  could  not  agree,  he 
was  as  firm  as  a  rock. 

His  favourite  pursuits  lay  in  natural  science. 
He  knew  every  flower,  every  bird,  every  fish,  and 
every  insect  in  his  neighbourhood,  and  he  had  im- 
bibed a  belief  in  the  laws  of  nature,  which  rep- 
resented to  him  indirectly  the  thoughts  of  God. 
When,  therefore,  after  a  long  continuance  of 
drought,  the  bishop  of  his  diocese  ordered  him  to 
have  a  special  prayer  for  rain,  he  respectfully  and 
firmly  declined.  He  would  pray  for  the  good  gifts 
of  heaven,  offer  thanks  to  God  for  all  that  He  was 
pleased  to  send  in  His  wisdom,  but  he  would  not 
enter  into  particulars  with  Him,  he  would  not  put 
his  own  small  human  wisdom  against  the  Divine 
wisdom  ;  he  would  not  preach  on  what  he  thought 
was  good  for  us,  for  God  knew  best.  He  had  no 
difficulty  in  persuading  his  farmers  and  laboui-ers 
that  if  they  had  any  trust  in  God,  and  any  reverence 
for  the  Divine  wisdom  that  rules  the  world,  they 
would  place  all  their  troubles  and  cares  before  Him 
in  prayer,  but  they  would  not  beg  for  anything 
which,  in  His  wisdom,  He  withheld  from  them. 
"  Thy  will  be  done,"  that  was  his  prayer  for  rain. 
There  was  great  commotion  in  ecclesiastical  dove- 


Literary  Recollections  ill 

cotes,  most  of  all  in  episcopal  palaces.  All  sorts 
of  punishments  were  threatened,  but  Kingsley  re- 
mained throughout  perfectly  quiet,  yet  most  deter- 
mined. He  would  not  degrade  his  sacred  office 
to  that  of  a  rain-maker  or  medicine-man,  and  he 
carried  his  point.  "  In  America  we  manage  these 
things  better !  "  said  an  American  friend  of  Kings- 
ley.  "A  clergyman  in  a  village  on  the  frontier 
between  two  of  our  States  prayed  for  rain.  The 
rain  came,  and  it  soaked  the  ground  to  such  an  ex- 
tent that  the  young  lambs  in  the  neighbouring 
State  caught  cold  and  died.  An  action  was  brought 
against  the  clergyman  for  the  mischief  he  had 
done,  and  he  and  his  parishioners  were  condemned 
to  pay  damages  to  the  sheep  farmers.  They  never 
prayed  for  rain  again  after  that." 

Kingsley  incurred  great  displeasure  by  the  sup- 
port he  gave  to  what  was  called  Christian  Social- 
ism His  novel  "  Alton  Locke,"  contained  some 
very  outspoken  sentiments  as  to  the  terrible  suifer- 
iugs  of  the  poor  and  the  duties  of  the  rich.  Kings- 
ley,  Frederick  Maurice,  and  their  friends,  did  not 
only  plead,  but  they  acted  ;  they  formed  societies 
to  assist  poor  tailors,  and  for  a  time  the  clothes 
they  wore  showed  but  too  clearly  that  they  had 
been  cut  in  Whitechapel,  not  in  Regent  Street. 
Poor  Kingsley  suffered  not  only  in  his  wardrobe, 
but  in  his  purse  also,  owing  to  his  having  been 


112  Auld  Lang  Syne 

too  sanguine  in  his  support  of  tailoring  by  co-op- 
eration. 

However,  his  books,  both  in  prose  and  poetry, 
became  more  and  more  popular,  and  this  meant 
that  his  income  became  larger  and  larger. 

Publishers  say  that  novels  and  sermons  have  the 
largest  market  in  England  and  the  colonies,  and 
Kingsley  provided  both.  All  went  on  well :  even 
his  being  stopped  once  in  the  middle  of  a  sermon 
by  a  clergyman  who  had  invited  him  to  preach  in 
his  church  in  London,  but  did  not  approve  of  his 
sermon,  did  not  hurt  him.  He  had  many  influen- 
tial friends  ;  both  the  Queen  and  the  Prince  of 
Wales  had  shown  by  special  marks  of  favour  how 
much  they  appreciated  him,  and  he  had  a  right  to 
look  forward  to  ecclesiastical  preferment  and  to  a 
greater  amount  of  leisure  and  freedom.  One  unex- 
pected cloud,  however,  came  to  darken  his  bright 
and  happy  life.  Some  people  will  say  that  he 
brought  it  upon  himself,  but  there  are  certain 
clouds  which  no  honest  man  can  help  bringing 
upon  himself.  He,  no  doubt,  began  the  painful 
controversy  with  Newman.  Having  seen  how 
much  misery  had  been  caused  among  some  of  his 
own  dearest  friends  by  the  Eomauising  teaching 
under  the  auspices  of  Newman  and  Pusey,  he 
made  the  mistake  of  fastening  the  charge  of  dis- 
honesty, half-heartedness,  and  untruthfulness  on 


Literary  Recollections  1 13 

Newman  personally,  instead  of  on  the  whole  Eo- 
man  Catholic  propaganda  in  England  from  the 
time  of  Henry  YIII.'s  apostasy  from  the  Roman 
Church  to  that  of  Newman's  apostasy  from  the 
Church  of  England.  I  shall  not  enter  into  this 
controversy  again.  I  have  done  so  once,  and 
have  been  well  punished  for  having  ventured  to 
declare  my  honest  conviction  that  throughout  this 
painful  duel  Kingsley  was  in  the  right.  But 
Kingsley  was  clumsy  and  Newman  most  skilful. 
Besides,  Newman  was  evidently  a  man  of  many 
friends,  and  of  many  able  friends  who  knew  how 
to  wield  their  pens  in  many  a  newspaper. 

In  spite  of  having  taken  a  most  unpopular  step 
in  leaving  the  national  church,  Newman  always 
retained  the  popularity  which  he  had  so  well 
earned  as  a  member  of  that  Church.  I  have  my- 
self been  one  of  his  true  admirers,  partly  from 
having  known  many  of  his  intimate  friends  at  Ox- 
ford, partly  from  having  studied  his  earlier  works 
when  I  first  came  to  England.  I  read  them  more 
for  their  style  than  for  their  contents.  If  New- 
man had  left  behind  him  no  more  than  his  ex- 
quisite University  sermons  and  his  sweet  hymns  he 
would  always  have  stood  high  among  the  glories 
of  England.  But  Kingsley  also  was  loved  by  the 
people  and  surrounded  by  numerous  and  powerful 
friends.  It  must  be  due  to  my  ignorance  of  the 
8 


1 14  Auld  Lang  Syne 

national  character,  but  I  have  certainly  never  been 
able  to  explain  why  public  sympathy  went  so  en- 
tirely with  Newman  and  against  Kingsley;  why 
Kingsley  was  supposed  to  have  acted  unchival- 
rously  and  Newman  was  looked  upon  as  a  martyr 
to  his  convictions,  and  as  the  victim  of  an  illiberal 
and  narrow-minded  Anglican  clique.  Certain  it  is 
that  in  the  opinion  of  the  majority  Kingsley  had 
failed,  and  failed  ignominiously,  while  Newman's 
popularity  revived  and  became  greater  than  ever. 

Kingsley  felt  his  defeat  most  deeply  ;  he  was 
like  a  man  that  stammered,  and  could  not  utter  at 
the  right  time  the  right  word  that  was  in  his  mind. 
What  is  still  more  surprising  was  the  sudden  col- 
lapse of  the  sale  of  Kingsley's  most  popular  books. 
I  saw  him  after  he  had  been  with  his  publishers  to 
make  arrangements  for  the  sale  of  his  copyrights. 
He  wanted  the  money  to  start  his  sons,  and  he 
had  a  right  to  expect  a  substantial  sum.  The  sum 
offered  him  seemed  almost  an  insult,  and  yet  he 
assured  me  that  he  had  seen  the  books  of  his  pub- 
lishers, and  that  the  sale  of  his  books  during  the 
last  years  did  not  justify  a  larger  offer.  He  was 
miserable  about  it,  as  well  he  might  be.  He  felt 
not  only  the  pecuniary  loss,  but,  as  he  imagined, 
the  loss  of  that  influence  which  he  had  gained  by 
years  of  hard  labour. 

However,  he  was  mistaken  in  his  idea  that  he 


Literary  Recollections  1 1 5 

had  laboured  in  vain.  Immediately  after  his  death 
there  came  the  most  extraordinary  reaction.  His 
books  sold  again  in  hundreds  of  thousands,  and  his 
family  received  m  one  year  a  great  deal  more  from 
his  royalties  than  had  been  offered  him  for  the 
whole  copyright  of  all  his  books.  People  are  more 
willing  now  to  admit  that  though  Newman  may 
have  been  right  in  his  "  Apologia  pro  Vita  Sua," 
Kingsley  was  not  wrong  in  pointing  out  the  weak 
points  in  Newman's  character  and  in  the  moral  and 
political  doctrines  of  the  Roman  Catholic  system, 
more  particularly  of  the  Jesuits,  and  the  dangers 
that  threatened  his  beloved  England  from  those 
who  seemed  halting  between  the  two  Churches,  the 
one  national,  the  other  foreign,  the  one  reformed, 
the  other  unreformed. 

There  was  another  occasion  when  Newman's  and 
Kingsley's  friends  had  a  sharp  conflict  at  Oxford. 
When  the  Prince  of  Wales  was  invited  to  Oxford 
to  receive  his  honorary  degree  of  D.C.L.,  he  had, 
as  was  the  custom,  sent  to  the  Chancellor  a  list  of 
names  of  his  friends  on  whom  he  wished  that  the 
same  degi-ee  should  be  conferred  at  the  same  time. 
One  of  them  was  Kingsley,  then  one  of  his  chap- 
lains. When  his  name  was  proposed  a  strong 
protest  was  made  by  Dr.  Pusey  and  his  friends,  no 
one  could  understand  why.  Dr.  Pusey  declared 
distinctly  that  he  did  not  mean  to  contest  Kings- 


1 1 6  Auld  Lang  Syne 

ley's  orthodoxy,  but  when  asked  at  last  to  give  his 
reasons,  he  declared  that  Kingsley's  "  Hypatia " 
was  an  immoral  book.  This  was  too  much  for  Dr. 
Stanley,  who  challenged  Pusey  to  produce  one  sin- 
gle passage  in  "  Hypatia  "  which  could  be  called 
immoral.  On  such  conditions  Shakespeare  could 
never  have  received  an  honorary  degree  from 
the  University  of  Oxford.  I  still  possess  the  copy 
of  "Hypatia"  which  Stanley  examined,  mark- 
ing every  passage  that  could  possibly  be  called 
immoral.  It  need  hardly  be  said  that  there  was 
none.  Still  Dr.  Pusey  threatened  to  veto  the  de- 
gree in  Convocation  and  to  summon  his  friends 
from  the  country  to  support  him.  And  what  could 
have  been  done  to  prevent  an  unseemly  scandal  on 
such  an  occasion  as  a  royal  visit  to  Oxford  ?  Dr. 
Stanley  and  his  friends  yielded,  and  Kingsley's 
name  was  struck  out  from  the  Prince's  list,  and, 
what  was  still  worse,  it  was  never  placed  again  on 
the  list  of  honorary  doctors  such  as  might  really 
have  reflected  honour  on  the  University.  If  ever 
the  secret  history  of  the  degrees  conferred  honoris 
causa  by  the  University  of  Oxford  on  truly  eminent 
persons,  not  members  of  the  University,  comes  to 
be  written,  the  rejection  of  Kingsley's  name  will 
not  be  one  of  the  least  interesting  chapters. 

Kingsley's  death  was  a  severe  blow  to  his  coun- 
try, and  his  friends  knew  that  his  life  might  have 


Literary  R.ecollections  117 

been  prolonged.  It  was  a  sad  time  I  spent  -witli 
him  at  Eversley,  while  his  wife  lay  sick  and  the 
doctors  gave  no  hope  of  her  recovery.  He  him- 
self also  was  very  ill  at  the  time,  but  a  doctor 
whom  the  Queen  had  sent  to  Eversley  told  him 
that  with  proper  care  there  was  no  danger  for  him, 
that  he  had  the  lungs  of  a  horse,  but  that  he  re- 
quired great  care.  In  spite  of  that  warning  he 
would  get  up  and  go  into  the  sick-room  of  his  wife, 
which  had  to  be  kept  at  an  icy  temperature.  He 
caught  cold  and  died,  being  fully  convinced  that 
his  wife  had  gone  before  him.  And  what  a  funeral 
it  was !  But  with  all  the  honour  that  was  paid  to 
him,  all  who  walked  back  to  the  empty  rectory  felt 
that  life  henceforth  was  poorer,  and  that  the  sun 
of  England  would  never  be  so  bright  or  so  cheerful 
again,  now  that  he  was  gone.  Though  I  admired — 
as  who  did  not  ? — his  poetical  power,  his  brilliant 
yet  most  minute  and  accurate  descriptions  of  nat- 
ure, and  the  lifelike  characters  he  had  created  in 
his  novels,  what  we  loved  most  in  him  was  his 
presence,  his  delightful  stammer,  his  downright 
honesty,  and  the  perfect  transparency  of  his  moral 
nature.  He  was  not  a  child,  he  was  a  man,  but 
unspoiled  by  the  struggles  of  his  youth,  unspoiled 
by  the  experiences  of  his  later  years.  He  was  an 
English  gentleman,  a  perfect  specimen  of  noble 
English  manhood. 


ii8  Auld  Lang  Syne 

Having  been  particularly  attaclied  to  his  young 
niece,  my  wife,  he  had  at  once  allowed  me  a  share 
in  his  affections,  and  when  other  members  of  her 
family  shook  their  heads,  he  stood  by  me  and  bade 
me  be  of  good  cheer  till  the  day  was  won,  and  she 
became  my  wife.  That  was  in  1859.  Here  are 
some  verses  he  had  addressed  to  his  two  nieces, 
to  my  wife  and  to  her  sister,  afterwards  Mrs.  Theo- 
dore Walrond  (died  1872) :— 

TO  G  *  *  *. 

A  hasty  jest  I  once  let  fall — 

As  jests  are  wont  to  be,  untrue— 

As  if  the  sum  of  joy  to  you 

Were  hunt  and  picnic,  rout  and  ball. 

Your  eyes  met  mine  :  I  did  not  blame ; 
You  saw  it :  but  I  touched  too  near 
Some  noble  nerve  ;  a  silent  tear 
Spoke  soft  reproach  and  lofty  shame. 

I  do  not  wish  those  words  unsaid. 
Unspoilt  by  praise  or  pleasure,  you 
In  that  one  look  to  woman  grew, 
While  with  a  child,  I  thought,  I  played. 

Next  to  mine* own  beloved  so  long! 
I  have  not  spent  my  heart  in  vain. 
I  watched  the  blade  ;  I  see  the  grain  ; 
A  woman's  sonl,  most  soft,  yet  strong. 


Literary  Recollections  ug 


A  FAEEWELL. 

My  fairest  child,  I  have  no  song  to  give  you  ; 

No  lark  could  pipe  to  skies  so  dull  and  grey : 
Yet,  ere  we  part,  one  lesson  I  can  leave  you 
For  every  day. 

Be  good,  sweet  maid,  and  let  who  will  be  clever. 

Do  noble  things,  not  dream  them,  all  day  long : 
And  so  make  life,  death,  and  that  vast  for  ever 
One  grand  sweet  song. 

In  the  original,  as  written  down  in  her  album, 
there  is  a  third  verse  between  the  two :  — 

I'll  tell  you  how  to  sing  a  clearer  carol 

Than  lark  who  hails  the  dawn  on  breezy  down, 
To  earn  yourself  a  purer  poet's  laurel 

Than  Shakespeare's  crown. 


LITERARY   RECOLLECTIONS 

III 

Knowing  both  Kingsley  and  Froude  very  inti- 
mately, I  soon  came  to  know  many  of  their  friends, 
though  my  residence  at  Oxford  kept  me  clear  from 
the  vortex  of  literary  society  in  London.  In  some 
respects  I  regretted  it,  but  in  others  I  found  it  a 
great  blessing.  It  requires  not  only  mental,  but 
considerable  physical  strength  to  stand  the  wear 
and  tear  of  London  life,  and  I  confess  I  never 
could  understand  how  some  of  my  friends.  Brown- 
ing, Tyndall,  Huxley,  M.  Arnold,  and  others,  could 
manage  to  do  any  serious  work,  and  at  the  same 
time  serve  the  Moloch  of  Society  to  whom  so  many 
men  and  women  in  London  offer  themselves  and 
their  children  as  willing  sacrifices  year  after  year. 
They  had  not  only  to  dine  out  and  lose  their  even- 
ings, but  wherever  they  went  they  had  to  shine, 
they  had  often  to  make  speeches,  long  speeches, 
at  public  dinners,  they  came  home  tired  and  slept 

badly,  and  in  the  morning  they  were  interrupted 

120 


Literary  Recollections  121 

again  by  letters,  by  newspapers,  by  calls,  then  by 
,  meetings  and  committees,  by  the  inevitable  leav- 
ing of  cards,  and,  lastly,  there  was  with  many  of 
them  their  official  work.  Society  is  a  voracious 
animal,  and  has  deprived  the  world  of  much  that 
can  only  be  the  outcome  of  quiet  hours,  of  contin- 
uous thought,  and  of  uninterrupted  labour.  These 
men  must  have  had  not  only  the  brain,  but  the 
physical  constitution  also  of  giants,  to  survive  this 
constant  social  worry. 

A  quiet  dinner  with  a  few  friends  is  pleasant 
enough,  and  a  certain  amount  of  social  friction 
may  even  be  useful  in  keeping  us  from  rusting; 
nay,  a  casual  collision  with  a  kindred  spirit  may 
sometimes  call  forth  sparks  which  can  be  turned 
into  light  and  heat.  But  to  dress,  to  drive  a  few 
miles,  then  to  be  set  down,  possibly,  between  two 
strangers  who  have  little  to  say  and  much  to  ask, 
and  who,  if  ill-luck  will  have  it,  may  not  even  be 
beautiful  or  charming,  is  a  torture  to  which  men 
like  Browning  and  M.  Arnold  ought  never  to  have 
submitted.  An  afternoon  tea  is  a  far  more  rational 
amusement,  because  people  are  not  kept  chained 
for  two  hours  to  one  chair  and  two  neighbours, 
but  can  move  about  and  pick  out  some  of  their 
friends  whom  they  really  wish  to  talk  to.  Even 
a  luncheon  is  more  bearable,  for  it  does  not  last 
so  long,  and  one  may  find   a  chance  of  talking 


122  Auld  Lang  Syne 

to  one's  friends.  But  dinners  are  tortures,  sur- 
vivals of  the  dark  ages  for  which  there  is  no  longer 
any  excuse,  and  I  believe  that  more  people,  and 
good  people  too,  have  fallen  victims  to  dinners, 
public  or  private,  than  have  broken  their  necks  in 
the  himting  field. 

I  had  hoped  at  one  time  that  the  aesthetic  phase 
through  which  English  society  was  passing,  would 
have  put  an  end  to,  or  would  at  least  have  modi- 
fied, these  social  gobblings.  Surely  it  is  a  most 
unbeautiful  sight  to  see  a  number  of  people,  yoimg 
and  old,  with  or  without  teeth,  filling  their  mouths 
with  mutton  or  beef,  chewing,  denticating,  masti- 
cating their  morsels,  and  then  washing  them  down 
with  wine  or  water.  No  doubt  it  can  be  done  in- 
offensively, or  even  daintily,  but  is  it?  Eastern 
ladies  know  how  to  throw  small  morsels  of  food 
into  their  open  mouths  with  their  fingers,  and 
Eastern  poets  describe  this  performance  with  rapt- 
ure. Chinese  poets  become  eloquent  even  over 
chop-sticks  as  handled  by  their  fair  ones.  But  for 
all  that,  the  Hindus  seem  to  me  to  show  their  good 
taste  by  retiring  while  they  feed,  and  reappearing 
only  after  they  have  washed  their  hands  and  face. 
Wliy  should  we  be  so  anxious  to  perform  this  no 
doubt  necessary  function  before  the  eyes  of  our 
friends?  How  often  have  I  seen  a  beautiful  face 
distorted  by  the  action  of  the  jaw-bones,  the  tern- 


Literary  Recollections  123 

pies  forced  out,  and  the  cheeks  distended  by  ob- 
stinate morsels.  Could  not  at  least  the  grosser 
part  of  feeding  be  performed  in  private,  and  the 
social  gathering  begin  at  the  dessert,  or,  with  men, 
at  the  wine,  so  as  to  have  a  real  Symposion,  not  a 
Symphagion  ?  But  I  am  on  dangerous  ground,  and 
shall  broach  no  further  heresies. 

Life  at  Oxford  has  many  advantages.  Of  course 
our  London  friends  tell  us  that  we  are  mere  pro- 
vincials, but  that  is  a  relative  expression,  and,  any- 
how, we  enjoy  life  in  peace.  It  is  true  we  have 
not  shaken  off  the  regular  society  dinners  alto- 
gether, but  no  one  is  offended  if  his  friends  tell 
him  that  they  are  too  busy  to  dine  out.  And  we 
still  have  our  pleasant  small  dinners  or  luncheons 
of  four,  six,  at  the  utmost  eight  people,  when  you 
can  really  see  and  enjoy  your  friends,  and  not  only 
roast  beef  and  port.  In  former  years,  when  I  first 
came  to  Oxford,  it  was  different,  but  then  the  evil 
was  chiefly  confined  to  heads  of  colleges  and  halls, 
and  there  were  even  then  exceptions,  where  you 
dined  to  meet  a  few  friends,  and  not  simply  to  lay 
in  food. 

One  of  my  earliest  dinners  I  remember  at  Ox- 
ford was  to  meet  Thackeray.  Thackeray  was  then 
writing  "  Esmond,"  and  a  Mr.  Stoddard— a  fellow 
of  St.  John's  College — asked  me  to  meet  him  at 
dinner.     We  were  only  four,  and  we  were  all  very 


124  Auld  Lang  Syne 

much  awed  by  Thackeray's  presence,  particidarly 
I,  not  being  able  as  yet  to  express  myself  freely 
in  English.  We  sat  silent  for  some  time,  no  one 
ventured  to  make  the  first  remark,  the  soup  was 
over,  and  there  was  a  fine  John  Dore  on  the  table 
waiting  to  be  splayed.  We  were  hoping  for  some 
brilliant  sally  from  Thackeray,  but  nothing  came. 
At  last  Thackeray  suddenly  turned  his  large  spec- 
tacled eyes  on  me  and  said :  "  Are  you  going  to 
eat  your  own  ancestor  ?  "  I  stared,  everybody  else 
stared.  At  last  we  gave  it  up,  and  Thackeray, 
looking  very  grave  and  learned,  said :  "  Sm-ely  you 
are  the  son  of  the  Dorian  Miiller — the  Mtiller  who 
wrote  that  awfully  learned  book  on  the  Dorians ; 
and  was  not  John  Dore  the  ancestor  of  all  the 
Dorians  ?  "  There  was  a  general,  "  Oh,  oh !  "  but 
the  ice  was  broken,  and  no  one  after  this  homble 
pun  was  afraid  of  saying  anything.  All  I  could  tell 
Thackeray  was  that  I  was  not  the  son  of  Otfried 
Miiller,  who  wrote  on  the  Dorians,  but  of  Wil- 
helm  Miiller,  the  poet,  who  wrote  "  Die  Homer- 
ische  Vorschule,"  and  "Die  Schone  Miilleriu,"  and 
as  to  John  Dore  being  our  ancestor,  how  could  that 
be?  The  original  John  Dore,  so  I  have  been  told, 
was  il  Jamtore,  that  is,  St.  Peter,  and  had  no  wife, 
as  some  people  will  have  it,  or  at  least  never  ac- 
knowledged her  in  public,  though  he  was  kind  to 
his  mother-in-law.     All  this  did  not  promise  well, 


Literary  Recollections  125' 

yet  the  rest  of  our  little  dinner  party  was  very 
successful ;  it  became  noisy  and  even  brilliant. 

Thackeray  from  his  treasures  of  wit  and  sar- 
casm poured  out  anecdote  after  anecdote ;  he  used 
plenty  of  vinegar  and  cayenne  pepper,  but  there 
was  always  a  flavour  of  kindliness  and  good-nature, 
even  in  his  most  cutting  remarks.  I  saw  more  of 
him  when  he  came  to  Oxford  to  lectm'e  on  the 
Four  Georges,  and  when  he  stood  for  Parliament 
and  was  defeated  by  Cardwell  and  Charles  Neate. 
After  one  of  his  lectures,  when  I  expressed  my 
delight  with  his  brilliant  success,  "Wait,  wait," 
he  said,  "  the  time  will  come  when  you  will  lecture 
at  Oxford."  At  that  time  my  English  was  still 
very  crumbly ;  there  was  no  idea  of  my  staying  on 
in  England,  still  less  of  my  ever  becoming  a  pro- 
fessor at  Oxford. 

Thackeray's  novels  were  a  great  delight  to  me 
then,  and  some  have  remained  so  for  life.  Still, 
there  is  a  fashion  in  all  things,  in  literature  quite 
as  much  as  in  music,  and  when  lately  reading  "  The 
Newcomes  "  I  was  surprised  at  the  meagreness  of 
the  dialogue,  the  very  dialogues  for  which  we  felt 
so  impatient  from  month  to  month  when  the  book 
first  came  out  in  numbers.  Still  one  always  recog- 
nises in  Thackeray  the  powerful  artist,  who,  like  a 
Japanese  painter,  will  with  a  few  lines  place  a  living 
man  or  woman  before  you,  never  to  be  forgotten. 


126  Auld  Lang  Syne 

I  am  sorry  I  missed  seeing  and  knowing  more 
of  Charles  Dickens.  I  met  him  in  my  very  early 
days  with  a  friend  of  mine  at  some  tavern  in  the 
Strand,  but  did  not  see  him  again  till  quite  at  the 
end  of  his  career,  when  he  was  giving  readings 
from  his  novels,  and  knew  how  to  make  his  audi- 
ences either  weep  or  laugh.  Still  I  am  glad  to  have 
seen  him  in  the  flesh,  both  as  a  young  and  as  an 
old  man.  However  wide  apart  our  interests  in  life 
might  be,  no  one  who  had  read  his  novels  could 
look  on  Dickens  as  a  stranger.  He  knew  the  heart 
of  man  to  the  very  core,  and  could  di*aw  a  picture 
of  human  suffering  with  a  more  loving  hand  than 
any  other  English  writer.  He  also  possessed  now 
and  then  the  grand  style,  and  even  in  his  pictures 
of  still  life  the  hand  of  the  master  can  always  be 
perceived.  He  must  have  shed  many  a  tear  over 
the  deathbed  of  poor  Joe ;  he  must  have  chuckled 
and  shouted  over  Mr.  Winkle  and  Mr.  Tupman 
going  out  partridge  shooting.  Perhaps  to  our  taste, 
as  it  now  is,  some  of  his  characters  are  too  senti- 
mental and  simpering,  but  there  are  few  writers 
now  who  could  create  his  child-'oife.  It  always 
seemed  to  me  very  strange  that  my  friend  Stanley, 
though  he  received  Dickens  among  the  great  ones 
of  Westminster  Abbey,  could  not,  as  he  confessed 
to  me,  take  any  pleasure  in  his  works. 

But  though  I  could  not  spend  much  time  in 


Literary  Recollections  127 

London  and  cultivate  my  literary  acquaintances 
there,  Oxford  itself  was  not  without  interesting 
poets.  After  all,  whatever  talent  England  possesses 
is  filtered  generally  either  through  Oxford  or  Cam- 
bridge, and  those  who  have  eyes  to  see  may  often 
watch  some  of  the  most  important  chapters  in  the 
growth  of  poetical  genius  among  the  young  under- 
graduates. I  watched  Clough  before  the  world 
knew  him,  I  knew  Matthew  Arnold  during  many 
years  of  his  early  life,  and  having  had  the  honour 
of  examining  Swinburne  I  was  not  surprised  at  his 
marvellous  performances  in  later  years.  He  was 
even  then  a  true  artist,  a  commander  of  legions  of 
words,  who  might  become  an  imperator  at  any 
time.  Clough  was  a  most  fascinating  character, 
thoroughly  genuine,  but  so  oppressed  with  the 
problems  of  life  that  it  was  difficult  ever  to  get  a 
smile  out  of  him ;  and  if  one  did,  his  round  ruddy 
face  with  the  deep  heavy  eyes  seemed  really  to 
suffer  from  the  contortions  of  laughter.  He  took 
life  very  seriously,  and  made  gi-eater  sacrifices  to 
his  convictions  than  the  world  ever  suspected.  He 
was  poor,  but  from  conscientious  scruples  gave  up 
his  fellowship,  and  was  driven  at  last  to  go  to  Amer- 
ica to  make  himself  independent  without  giving  up 
the  independence  of  his  mind.  With  a  little  more 
sunshine  above  him  and  around  him  he  might  have 
grown  to  a  very  considerable  height,  but  there  was 


128  Auld  Lang  Syne 

always  a  lieavy  weight  on  liim,  that  seemed  to  ren- 
der every  utterance  and  every  poem  a  struggle. 

His  poems  are  better  known  and  loved  in  Amer- 
ica, I  believe,  than  in  England,  but  in  England  also 
they  still  have  their  friends,  and  in  the  history  of  the 
religious  or  rather  theological  struggles  of  1840-50 
Clough's  figure  will  always  be  recognised  as  one 
of  the  most  characteristic  and  the  most  pleasing.  I 
had  once  the  misfortune  to  give  him  great  pain.  I 
saw  him  at  Oxford  with  a  young  lady,  and  I  was  told 
that  he  was  engaged  to  her.  Delighted  as  I  was  at 
this  prospect  of  a  happy  issue  out  of  all  his  troubles, 
I  wrote  to  him  to  congratulate  him,  when  a  most 
miserable  answer  came,  telling  me  that  it  all  was 
hopeless,  and  that  I  ought  not  to  have  noticed  what 
was  going  on. 

However,  it  came  right  in  the  end,  only  there 
were  some  years  of  patient  struggle  to  be  gone 
through  first ;  and  who  is  not  grateful  in  the  end 
for  such  years  passed  on  Pisgah,  if  only  Jordan  is 
crossed  at  last? 

Another  poet  whom  I  knew  at  Oxford  as  an  un- 
dergraduate, and  whom  I  watched  and  admired  to 
the  end  of  his  life,  was  Matthew  Ai-nold.  He  was 
beautiful  as  a  young  man,  strong  and  manly,  yet 
full  of  dreams  and  schemes.  His  Olympian  man- 
ners began  even  at  Oxford  ;  there  was  no  harm  in 
them,  they  were  natural,  not  put  on.     The  veiy 


Literary  Recollections  129 

sound  of  his  voice  and  the  wave  of  his  arm  were 
Jovelike.     He  grappled  with  the  same  problems  as 
Clough,  but  they  never  got  the  better  of  him,  or 
rather  he  never  got  the  worse  of  them.     Goethe 
helped  him  to  soar  where  others  toiled  and  sighed 
and  were  sinking  under  their  self-imposed  burdens. 
Even  though  his  later  life  was  enough  to  dishearten 
a  poet,  he  laughed  at  his  being  Pegasus  ini  Jodie. 
Sometimes  at  public  dinners,  when  he  saw  himself 
surrounded  by  his  contemporaries,  most  of  them 
judges,  bishops,  and  ministers,  he  would  groan  over 
the  drudgery  he  had  to  go  through  every  day  of  his 
life  in  examining  dirty  schoolboys  and  schoolgirls. 
But  he  saw  the  fun  of  it,  and  laughed.     What  a 
pity  it  was  that  his  friends,  and  he  had  many,  could 
find  no  better  place  for  him.     Most  of  his  contem- 
poraries, many  of  them  far  inferior  to  him,  rose  to 
high  positions  in  Church  and  State,  he  remained 
to  the  end  an  examiner  of  elementary  schools.     Of 
course  it  may  be  said  that,  like  so  many  of  his  lit- 
erary friends,  he  might  have  written  novels  and 
thus  eked  out  a  living  by  pot-boilers,  as  they  are 
called,  of  various  kinds.     But  there  was  something 
noble  and  refined  in  him  which  restrained  his  pen 
from  such  work.     Whatever  he  gave  to  the  world 
was  to  be  perfect,  as  perfect  as  he  could  make  it, 
and  he  did  not  think  that  he  possessed  a  talent  for 
novels.      His  saying  "  No  Arnold  can  ever  write  a 


130  Auld  Lang  Syne 

novel  "  is  well  known,  but  it  has  been  splendidly 
falsified  of  late  by  his  own  niece.  He  had  to  go 
to  America  on  a  lecturing  tour  to  earn  some  money 
he  stood  in  need  of,  though  he  felt  it  as  a  dira  ne- 
cessitas,  nay,  as  a  dire  indignity.  It  is  true  he  had 
good  precedents,  but  evidently  his  showman  was 
not  the  best  he  could  have  chosen,  nor  was  Arnold 
himself  very  strong  as  a  lecturer.  England  has 
not  got  from  him  all  that  she  had  a  right  to  ex- 
pect, but  whatever  he  has  left  has  a  finish  that  will 
long  keep  it  safe  from  the  corrosive  wear  and  tear 
of  time. 

"When  later  in  life  Arnold  took  to  theological 
studies,  he  showed,  no  doubt,  a  very  clear  insight 
and  a  perfect  independence  of  judgment,  but  he 
had  only  a  few  spare  hours  for  work  which  in  or- 
der to  be  properly  done  would  have  required  a 
lifetime.  Yet  what  he  wrote  produced  an  effect, 
in  England  at  least,  more  lasting  than  many  a 
learned  volume,  and  he  was  allowed  to  say  things 
that  would  have  given  deep  offence  if  coming  from 
other  lips.  His  famous  saying  about  the  three 
Lord  Shaftesburys  has  been  judged  very  differently 
by  different  writers.  As  a  mere  matter  of  taste  it 
may  seem  that  Arnold's  illustration  of  what  he 
took  to  be  the  common  conception  of  the  Trinity 
among  his  Philistine  friends  was  objectionable. 
Let  us  hope  that  it  was  not  even  tnie. 


Literary  Recollections  131 

But  Arnold's  intention  was  clear  enough.  He 
argued  chiefly  against  those  who  had  called  the 
Roman  Catholic  doctrine  of  the  Mass  "  a  degrading 
superstition."  He  tells  them  they  ought  to  dis- 
cover in  it  what  the  historian  alone,  or  what  Ar- 
nold means  by  a  man  of  culture,  can  discover ; 
namely,  the  original  intention  of  the  faithful  in 
thus  interpreting  the  words  of  Christ  (St.  John, 
vii.,  53) :  "  Verily,  verily,  I  say  unto  you.  Except 
ye  eat  the  flesh  of  the  Son  of  Man,  and  drink  His 
blood,  ye  have  no  life  in  you."  It  was  in  protest- 
ing against  this  narrowness  that  he  reminded  his 
Protestant  friends  of  the  weak  joints  in  their  own 
armour,  particularly  their  too  literal  acceptation 
of  the  doctrine  of  the  Trinity.*  And  I  doubt 
whether  he  was  altogether  wrong  when  he  charged 
them  with  speaking  of  the  Father  as  a  mere  in- 
dividual, or,  as  he  expressed  it,  a  sort  of  infinitely 
magnified  and  improved  Lord  Shaftesbury  with  a 
race  of  vile  ofi'enders  to  deal  with,  whom  his  nat- 
ural goodness  would  incline  him  to  let  off,  only  his 
sense  of  justice  would  not  allow  it.  And  is  it  not 
true  that  many  who  speak  of  Christ  as  the  Son  of 
God  take  "  son  "  in  its  common  literal  sense,  or, 
as  Arnold  expressed  it,  imagine  "  a  younger  Lord 
Shaftesbury,  on  the  scale  of  his  father  and  very 
dear  to  him,   who  might  live  in  grandeur  and 

*  "  Literature  and  Dogma,"  1873,  pp.  305,  seq. 


132  Auld  Lang  Syne 

splendour  if  he  liked,  but  who  preferred  to  leave 
his  home  to  go  and  live  among  the  race  of  offend- 
ers, and  to  be  put  to  an  ignominious  death,  on  the 
condition  that  his  merits  should  be  counted  against 
then*  demerits,  and  that  his  father's  goodness 
should  be  restrained  no  longer  from  taking  effect, 
but  any  offender  should  be  admitted  to  the  bene- 
fit of  it,  simply  on  pleading  the  satisfaction  made 
by  the  son  "  ?  Finally,  when  he  points  out  the  ex- 
tremely vague  conception  of  the  Holy  Ghost  as  a 
person  and  as  an  individual,  does  he  really  exag- 
gerate so  very  much  when  he  says  that  He  is  with 
many  no  more  than  "  a  third  Lord  Shaftesbury, 
still  on  the  same  high  scale,  who  keeps  very  much 
in  the  background  and  works  in  a  very  occult 
manner,  but  very  efficaciously  nevertheless,  and 
who  is  busy  in  applying  everywhere  the  benefits 
of  the  son's  satisfaction  and  the  father's  good- 
ness ?  "  Nay,  even  when  he  goes  on  to  say  that 
this  is  precisely  the  Protestant  story  of  justifica- 
tion, what  he  wants  to  impress  on  his  Protestant 
readers  is  surely  no  more  than  this,  that  from  his 
point  of  view  there  is  nothing  actually  degrading 
in  their  very  narrow  view,  as  little  as  in  the  com- 
mon Eoman  Catholic  view  of  the  Mass.  Wliat  he 
means  is  no  more  than  that  both  views  as  held 
by  the  many  are  grotesquely  literal  and  unintelli- 
gent. 


Literary  Recollections  133 

People  wlio  hold  such  views  would  be  ready 
to  tell  you,  he  says,  "the  exact  hangings  in  the 
Trinity's  council  chamber."     But,  with  all  that  he 
is  anxious  to  show  that  not  only  was  the  original 
intention  both  of  Eoman  and  English  Catholics 
good,  but  that  even  in  its  mistaken  application  it 
may  help  towards  righteousness.     In  trjdng  to  im- 
press this  view  both  on  Protestants  and  Koman 
Catholics,  Arnold  certainly  used  language   which 
must  have  pained  particularly  those  who  felt  that 
the  picture  was  not  altogether  untrue.     However, 
his  friends,  and  among  them  many  high  ecclesias- 
tics, forgave  him.     Stanley,  I  know,  admired  his 
theological   writings   very   much.      Many   of   his 
critics  fully  agreed  with  what  Arnold  said,  only 
they  would  have  said  it  in  a  different  way.     There 
is  a  kind  of  cocaine  style  which  is  used  by  many 
able  critics  and  reformers.      It  cuts  deep  into  the 
flesh,  and  yet  the  patient  remains  insensible  to 
pain.     "  You  can  say  anything   in  English,"  Ar- 
thur Helps  once  said  to  me,  "  only  you  must  know 
how  to  say  it."     Arnold,  like  Carlyle  and  others, 
preferred  the  old  style  of  surgery.     They  thought 
that  pain  was   good  in   certain   operations,  and 
helped  to  accelerate  a  healthy  reaction. 

The  only  fault  that  one  may  find  with  Arnold, 
is  that  he  did  not  himself  try  to  restore  the  orig- 
inal and  true  conception  of  the  Trinity  to  that 


134  Auld  Lang  Syne 

clear  and  intelligible  form  which  lie  as  an  historian 
and  a  man  of  cultiu'e  could  have  brought  out  bet- 
ter than  any  one  else.  The  original  intention  of 
the  Lord's  Supper,  or  the  Mass,  can  easily  be 
learnt,  as  Arnold  has  shown,  from  the  very  words 
of  the  Bible  (St.  Luke,  xxii.,  20)  :  "  The  cup  is 
the  new  testament  in  my  blood."  But  the  doc- 
trine of  the  Trinity  requires  a  far  more  searching 
historical  study.  As  the  very  name  of  Trinity  is 
a  later  invention,  and  absent  from  the  New  Testa- 
ment, it  requires  a  thorough  study  of  Greek,  more 
particularly  of  Alexandrian  philosophy,  to  under- 
stand its  origin,  for  it  is  from  Greek  philosophy 
that  the  idea  of  the  Word,  the  Logos,  was  taken 
by  some  of  the  early  Fathers  of  the  Church. 

As  the  Messiah  was  a  Semitic  thought  which 
the  Jewish  disciples  of  Christ  saw  realised  in  the 
Son  of  Man,  the  Word  was  an  Aryan  thought  which 
the  Greek  disciples  saw  fulfilled  in  the  Son  of  God. 
The  history  of  the  divine  Dyas  which  preceded  the 
Trias  is  clear  enough,  if  only  we  are  acquainted 
with  the  antecedents  of  Greek  philosophy.  With- 
out that  background  it  is  a  mere  phantasm,  and 
no  wonder  that  in  the  minds  of  uneducated  peo- 
ple it  should  have  become  what  Arnold  describes 
it,^  father,  son,  and  grandson,  living  together  in 
the  same  house,  or  possibly  in  the   clouds.     To 

*  "  Literature  and  Dogma,"  p.  143. 


Literary  Recollections  135 

make  people  shrink  back  from  such  a  conception 
is  worth  something,  and  Arnold  has  certainly 
achieved  this,  if  only  he  has  caused  hundreds  and 
thousands  to  say  to  themselves  :  "  We  never  were 
so  foolish  or  so  narrow-minded  as  to  believe  in 
three  Lord  Shaftesburys." 

For  some  reason  or  other,  however,  the  "  three 
Lord  Shaftesburys  "  have  disappeared  in  the  last 
edition  of  "  Literature  and  Dogma  "  and  have  been 
replaced  by  "a  Supernatural  Man."  Froude,  who 
was  an  intimate  friend  both  of  Ai-nold  and  of  Sir 
James  Stephen,  told  me  that  the  latter  had  warned 
Arnold  that  the  three  Lord  Shaftesburys  were 
really  actionable,  and  if  Arnold  hated  anything  it 
was  a.  fracas.  In  the  fifth  edition  they  still  remain, 
so  that  the  change  must  have  been  made  later  on, 
when  he  prepared  the  cheap  edition  of  his  book. 
Anyhow,  they  are  gone ! 

Arnold  was  a  delightful  man  to  argue  with,  not 
that  he  could  easily  be  convinced  that  he  was 
wrong,  but  he  never  lost  his  temper,  and  in  the 
most  patronising  way  he  would  generally  end  by  : 
"  Yes,  yes  !  my  good  fellow,  you  are  quite  right, 
but,  you  see,  my  view  of  the  matter  is  difi'erent, 
and  I  have  little  doubt  it  is  the  true  one  !  "  This 
w^ent  so  far  that  even  the  simplest  facts  failed 
to  produce  any  impression  on  him.  He  had  fallen 
in  love  with  Emile  Bumouf's  attractive  but  not 


136  Auld  Lang  Syne 

very  scholar-like  and  trustworthy  "  Science  de  la 
Religion."  I  believe  that  at  first  he  had  mistaken 
Emile  for  Eugene  Burnouf,  a  mistake  which  has 
been  committed  by  other  people  besides  him. 
But,  afterwards,  when  he  had  perceived  the  differ- 
ence between  the  two,  he  was  not  at  all  abashed. 
Nay,  he  was  betrayed  into  a  new  mistake,  and 
spoke  of  Emile  as  the  son  of  Eugene.  I  told  him 
that  Eugene,  the  great  Oriental  scholar — one  of 
the  greatest  that  France  has  ever  produced,  and 
that  is  saying  a  great  deal — had  no  son  at  all,  and 
that  he  ought  to  correct  his  misstatement.  "  Yes, 
yes,"  he  said,  in  his  most  good-humoured  way, 
"but  you  knoAV  how  they  manage  these  things 
in  France.  fimile  was  really  a  natm*al  son  of  the 
great  scholar,  and  they  call  that  a  nephew."  This 
I  stoutly  denied,  for  never  was  a  more  irreproach- 
able pere  de  famille  than  my  friend  and  master 
Eugene  Burnouf.  But  in  spite  of  all  remon- 
strances, fimile  remained  with  Arnold  the  son  of 
Eugene  ;  "  For,  you  see,  my  good  fellow,  I  know 
the  French,  and  that  is  my  view  of  the  matter !  " 
If  that  happened  in  the  green  wood,  what  would 
happen  in  the  dry  ! 

We  had  a  long-standing  feud  about  poetry.  To 
me  the  difference  between  poetry  and  prose  was 
one  of  form  only.  I  always  held  that  the  same 
things  that  are  said  in  prose  could  be  said  in 


Literary  Recollections  137 

poetry,  and  vice  versa,  and  I  often  quoted  Goethe's 
saying  that  the  best  test  of  poetry  was  whether  it 
would  bear  translation  into  prose  or  into  a  foreign 
language.  To  all  that,  even  to  Goethe's  words, 
Arnold  demurred.  Poetry  to  him  was  a  thing  by 
itself,  "not  an  art  like  other  arts,"  but,  as  he 
grandly  called  it,  "  genius." 

He  once  had  a  great  triumph  over  me.  An 
American  gentleman,  who  brought  out  a  "  Collec- 
tion of  the  Portraits  of  the  Hundred  Greatest 
Men,"  divided  them  into  eight  classes,  and  the 
first  class  was  assigned  to  poetry,  the  second  to 
art,  the  third  to  religion,  the  fourth  to  philosophy, 
the  fifth  to  history,  the  sixth  to  science,  the  seventh 
to  politics,  the  eighth  to  industry.  Arnold  was 
asked  to  -vrate  the  introduction  to  the  first  volume, 
H.  Taine  to  the  second,  myself  and  Kenan  to  the 
third,  Noah  Porter  to  the  fourth.  Dean  Stanley  to 
the  fifth,  Helmholtz  to  the  sixth,  Froude  to  the 
seventh,  John  Fiske  to  the  eighth. 

I  do  not  know  whether  Arnold  had  anything  to 
do  mth  suggesting  this  division  of  Omne  Scihile 
into  eight  classes ;  anyhow,  he  did  not  allow  the 
opportunity  to  pass  to  assert  the  superiority  of 
poetry  over  every  other  branch  of  man's  intellect- 
ual activity.  " The  men,"  he  began,  "who  are  the 
flower  and  gloiy  of  our  race  are  to  pass  here  be- 
fore us,  the  highest  manifestations,  whether  on  this 


138  Auld  Lang  Syne 

line  or  that,  of  the  force  which  stirs  in  every  one 
of  us — the  chief  poets,  religious  founders,  philos- 
ophers, historians,  scholars,  orators,  warriors, 
statesmen,  voyagers,  leaders  in  mechanical  inven- 
tion and  industry,  who  have  appeared  among 
mankind.  And  the  poets  are  to  pass  first.  Why  ? 
Because,  of  the  various  modes  of  manifestation 
through  which  the  human  spirit  pours  its  force, 
theirs  is  the  most  adequate  and  happy." 

This  is  the  well-known  ore  rotundo  and  spiritu 
profundo  style  of  Arnold.  But  might  we  not  ask, 
Adequate  to  what?  Happij  in  what  ?  Arnold  him- 
self answers  a  little  farther  on :  "  No  man  can 
fuU}^  draw  out  the  reasons  why  the  human  spirit 
feels  itself  able  to  attain  to  a  more  adequate  and 
satisfying  expression  in  poetry  than  in  any  other 
of  its  modes  of  activity."  Yet  he  continues  to  call 
this  a  primordial  and  incontestable  fact ;  and  how 
could  we  poor  mortals  venture  to  contest  a  primor- 
dial and  incontestable  fact?  And  then,  limiting 
the  question  "  to  us  for  to-day,"  he  says,  "  Surely 
it  is  its  solidity  that  accounts  to  us  for  the  superior- 
ity of  poetry."  How  he  would  have  railed  if  any 
of  his  Philistines  had  ventured  to  recognise  the 
true  superiority  of  poetry  in  its  solidity ! 

Prose  may  bo  solid,  it  may  be  dense,  massive, 
lumpish,  concrete,  and  all  the  rest,  but  poetry  is 
generally  prized  for  its  being  subtle,  light,  ideal, 


Literary  Recollections  139 

air-drawn,  fairy-like,  or  made  of  such  stuff  as 
dreams  are  made  of.  However,  let  that  pass. 
Let  poetry  be  solid,  for  who  knows  what  sense 
Arnold  may  have  assigned  to  solid  ?  He  next  falls 
back  on  his  great  master  Goethe,  and  quotes  a  pas- 
sage which  I  have  not  been  able  to  find,  but  the 
bearmg  of  which  must  depend  very  much  on  the 
context  in  which  it  occui-s.  Goethe,  we  are  told, 
said  in  one  of  his  many  moods :  "I  deny  poetry 
to  be  an  art.  Neither  is  it  a  science.  Poetry  is 
to  be  called  neither  art  nor  science,  but  genius." 
"Who  would  venture  to  differ  from  Goethe  when 
he  defines  what  poetry  is?  But  does  he  define  it? 
He  simply  says  that  it  is  not  art  or  science.  In 
this  one  may  agree,  if  only  art  and  science  are  de- 
fined first.  No  one  I  think  has  ever  maintained 
that  poetry  was  science,  but  no  one  would  deny 
that  poetry  was  a  product  of  art,  if  only  in  the 
sense  of  the  Ars poetica  of  Horace,  or  the  Dicht- 
Jcunst  of  Goethe.  But  if  we  ask  what  can  be  meant 
by  saying  that  poetry  is  genius,  Goethe  would 
probably  say  that  what  lie  meant  was  that  poetry 
was  the  product  of  genius,  the  German  Genie. 
Goethe,  therefore,  meant  no  more  than  that  poetry 
requires,  in  the  poet,  originality  and  spontaneity 
of  thought ;  and  this,  though  it  would  require  some 
limitation,  no  one  surely  would  feel  inclined  to 
deny,  though  even  the  authority  of  Goethe  would 


140  Auld  Lang  Syne 

hardly  suffice  to  deprive  the  decipherer  of  an  in- 
scription, the  painter  of  the  "  Last  Supper,"  or 
the  discoverer  of  the  bacilli  of  a  claim  to  that 
divine  light  which  we  call  genius. 

Arnold  then  goes  on  to  say  that  poetry  gives 
the  idea,  but  it  gives  it  touched  with  beauty, 
heightened  by  emotion.  Would  not  Arnold  have 
allowed  that  the  language  of  Isaiah,  and  even 
some  of  the  dialogues  of  Plato,  were  touched  with 
beauty  and  heightened  by  emotion  though  they 
are  in  prose  ?  I  think  he  himself  speaks  some- 
where of  a  poetic  prose.  Where,  then,  is  the  true 
difference  between  the  creations  of  Isaiah  and  of 
Browning,  between  the  eloquence  of  Plato  and  of 
Wordsworth  ? 

Ai'nold  has  one  more  trump  card  to  play  in  or- 
der to  win  for  poetry  that  superiority  over  all  the 
other  manifestations  of  the  forces  of  the  human 
spirit  which  he  claims  again  and  again.  I  have  al- 
ways been  a  sincere  admirer  of  Arnold's  poetry, 
still  I  think  there  is  more  massive  force  in  some  of 
his  prose  than  in  many  of  his  poems ;  nay,  I  be- 
lieve he  has  left  a  much  deeper  and  more  lasting 
impression  on  what  he  likes  to  call  the  Zeitgeist 
through  his  essays  than  through  his  tragedies. 
What  then  is  his  last  card,  his  last  proof  of  the 
superiority  of  poetry?  Poetry,  he  argues,  has 
more  stability  than  anything  else,  and  mankind 


Literary  Recollections  141 

finds  in  it  a  surer  stay  than  in  art,  in  pliilosopliy, 
or  religion.  "  Compare,"  he  says,  "  the  stability 
of  Shakespeai-e  with  that  of  the  Thirty-nine  Arti- 
cles." 

Poor  Thirty-nine  Articles !  Did  they  ever  claim 
to  contain  poetry,  or  even  religion?  "Were  they 
ever  meant  to  be  more  than  a  dry  abstract  of  theo- 
logical dogmas?  Surely  they  never  challenged 
comparison  with  Shakespeare.  They  are  an  index, 
a  table  of  contents,  they  were  a  business-like  agree- 
ment, if  you  like,  between  different  parties  in  the 
Church  of  England.  But  to  ask  whether  they  will 
stand  longer  than  Shakespeare  is  very  much  like 
asking  whether  the  Treaty  of  Paris  will  last  longer 
than  Victor  Hugo.  There  is  stay  in  poetry  pro- 
vided that  the  prose  which  underlies  it  is  lasting, 
or  everlasting  ;  there  is  no  stay  in  it  if  it  is  mere 
froth  and  rhyme.  Arnold  always  liked  to  fall  back 
on  Goethe.  "What  a  series  of  philosophic  sys- 
tems has  Germany  seen  since  the  birth  of  Goethe," 
he  says,  "  and  what  sort  of  stay  is  any  one  of  them 
compared  with  the  poetry  of  Germany's  one  great 
poet  ?  "  Is  Goethe's  poetry  really  so  sure  a  stay 
as  the  philosophies  of  Germany ;  nay,  would  there 
be  any  stay  in  it  at  all  without  the  suj)port  of  that 
philosophy  which  Goethe  drank  in,  whether  from 
the  vintage  of  Spinoza  or  from  the  more  recent 
crues  of  Kant  and   Fichte?     Goethe's  name,  no 


142  Auld  Lang  Syne 

doubt,  is  always  a  pillar  of  strengtli,  but  there  is 
even  now  a  very  great  part  of  Goetbe's  "  Collected 
Works  "  in  thirty  volumes  that  is  no  longer  a  stay, 
but  is  passe,  and  seldom  read  by  any  one,  except 
by  the  historian.  Poetry  may  act  as  a  powerful 
preservative,  and  it  is  wonderful  how  much  pleas- 
ure we  may  derive  from  thought  mummified  in 
verse.  But  in  the  end  it  is  thought  in  its  ever- 
changing  life  that  forms  the  real  stay,  and  it  mat- 
ters little  whether  that  thought  speaks  to  us  in 
marble,  or  in  music,  in  hexameters,  in  blank  verse, 
or  even  in  prose.  Poetry  in  itself  is  no  protection 
against  folly  and  feebleness.  There  is  in  the  world 
a  small  amount  of  good,  and  an  immense  amount 
of  bad  poetry.  The  former,  we  may  hope,  will 
last,  and  will  serve  as  a  stay  to  all  who  care  for 
the  music  of  thought  and  the  harmony  of  lan- 
guage ;  the  twaddle,  sometimes  much  admired  in 
its  time  (and  there  is  plenty  of  it  in  Goethe  also), 
will,  we  hope,  fade  away  from  the  memory  of  man, 
and  serve  as  a  lesson  to  poets  who  imagine  that 
they  may  safely  say  in  rhythm  and  rhyme  what 
they  would  be  thoroughly  ashamed  to  say  in  sim- 
ple prose.  Nor  is  the  so-called  stay  or  immortal- 
ity of  poetry  of  much  consequence.  To  have  bene- 
fited millions  of  his  own  age,  ought  surely  to  sat- 
isfy any  poet,  even  if  no  one  reads  his  poems,  or 
translations  of  them,  a  thousand  years  hence. 


Literary  Recollections  143 

Denn  wer  den  Besten  seiner  Zeit  genug 
Gethan,  der  hat  gelebt  ftlr  alle  Zeiten  * 

It  is  strange  to  go  over  the  old  ground  when  he 
with  whom  one  travelled  over  it  in  former  times  is 
no  more  present  to  answer  and  to  hold  his  own 
view  against  the  world.  There  certainly  was  a 
great  charm  in  Arnold,  even  though  he  could  be 
very  patronising.  But  there  was  in  all  he  said  a 
kind  of  understood  though  seldom  expressed  sad- 
ness, as  if  to  say,  "  It  will  soon  be  all  over,  don't 
let  us  get  angry  ;  we  are  all  very  good  fellows," 
etc.  He  knew  for  years  that  though  he  was  strong 
and  looked  very  young  for  his  age,  the  thread  of 
his  life  might  snap  at  any  moment.  And  so  it  did — 
felix  opportunitate  mortis.  Not  long  before  his  death 
he  met  Browning  on  the  steps  of  the  Athenaeum. 
He  felt  ill,  and  in  taking  leave  of  Browning  he 
hinted  that  they  might  never  meet  again.  Brown- 
ing was  profuse  in  his  protestations,  and  Arnold, 
on  turning  away,  said  in  his  airy  way  :  "  Now,  one 
promise,  Browning:  please,  not  more  than  ten 
lines."  Browning  understood,  and  went  away  with 
a  solemn  smile. 

Arnold  was  most  brilliant  as  Professor  of  Poetry 
at  Oxford,  from  1857  to  18G7.  He  took  great  pains 
in  writing  and  delivering  his  lectures.     He  looked 

*  Schiller's  "  Wallenstein,"  Prolog,  vv.  48,  49. 


144  Auld  Lang  Syne 

well  and  spoke  well.  Some  of  liis  lectures  were 
masterpieces,  and  he  set  a  good  example  which  was 
followed  by  Sir  Francis  Doyle,  1867-77,  well 
known  by  his  happy  occasional  poems,  then  by 
John  Shairp  from  1877  to  his  death,  and  lastly 
by  Francis  Palgrave  from  1885-95.  The  best  of 
Arnold's  lectures  were  published  as  essays ; 
Shairp's  lectures  appeared  after  his  death,  and 
have  retained  their  popularity,  particularly  in 
America.  Palgrave's  lectures,  we  may  hope,  will 
soon  appear.  They  were  full  of  most  valuable  in- 
formation, and  would  prove  very  useful  to  many 
as  a  book  of  reference.  I  have  known  no  one  bet- 
ter informed  on  English  poetry  than  my  friend 
Palgrave.  His  "  Golden  Treasury  "  bears  evidence 
of  his  wide  reading,  and  his  ripe  judgment  in  se- 
lecting the  best  specimens  of  English  lyric  poetry. 
One  had  but  to  touch  on  any  subject  in  the  history 
of  English  literature,  or  to  ask  him  a  question, 
and  there  was  always  an  abundance  of  most  val- 
uable information  to  be  got  from  him,  I  owe  him 
a  great  deal,  particularly  in  my  early  Oxford  days. 
For  it  was  he  who  revised  my  first  attempts  at 
writing  in  English,  and  gave  me  good  advice  for 
the  rest  of  my  journey,  more  particularly  as  to 
what  to  avoid.  He  is  now  one  of  the  very  few 
friends  left  who  remember  my  first  appearance  in 
Oxford  in  1840,  and  who  were  chiefly  instrumental 


Literary  Recollections  145 

in  retaining  my  services  for  a  University  wliich 
lias  proved  a  true  Alma  Mater  to  me  during  all 
my  life.  Grant  (Sir  Alexander),  Sellar,  Froude, 
Sandars,  Morier,  Neate,  Johnson  (Manuel),  Church, 
Jowett,  all  are  gone  before  me. 

Here  are  some  old  verses  of  his  which  I  find  in 
my  album : — 

An  English  -welcome  to  an  English  shore 

Such  as  we  could,  some  four  years  since  we  gave  thee, 

Not  knowing  what  the  Fates  reserved  in  store 

Or  that  our  land  among  our  sons  would  have  thee ; 

But  now  thou  art  eudenizen'd  awhile 

Almost  we  fear  our  welcome  to  renew  :  * 

Lest  what  we  seemed  to  promise,  should  beguile, 

When  all  we  are  is  open  to  thy  view. 

But  yet  if  aught  of  what  we  fondly  boast — 

True-hearted  warmth  of  Friendship,  frank  and  free, 

Survive  yet  in  this  island-circling  coast, 

We  need  not  fear  again  to  welcome  thee  : — 

So  may  we,  blessing  thee,  ourselves  be  blest. 

And  prove  not  all  unworthy  of  our  guest. 

What  happy  days,  what  happy  evenings  we 
spent  together  lang  syne !  How  patient  they  all 
were  with  their  German  guest  when  he  first  tried 
in  his  broken  English  to  take  part  in  their  lively 
and  sparkling  conversations.     Having  once  been 

*  This  was  written  in  1851,  and  here  in  1897  that  Welcome 
has  never  ceased  to  be  a  blessing  to  me. 


146  Auld  Lang  Syne 

received  in  that  delightful  circle,  it  was  easy  to 
make  more  acquaintances  among  their  friends  who 
lived  at  Oxford,  or  who  from  time  to  time  came  to 
visit  them  at  Oxford.  It  was  thus  that  I  first 
came  to  know  Ruskin,  Tennyson,  Browning,  and 
others. 

Ruskin  often  came  to  spend  a  few  days  with  his 
old  friends,  and  uncompromising  and  severe  as  he 
could  be  when  he  wielded  his  pen,  he  was  always 
most  charming  in  conversation.  He  never,  when 
he  was  with  his  friends,  claimed  the  right  of  speak- 
ing with  authority,  even  on  his  own  special  sub- 
jects, as  he  might  well  have  done.  It  seemed  to 
be  his  pen  that  made  him  say  bitter  things.  He 
must  have  been  sorry  himself  for  the  severe  cen- 
sure he  passed  in  his  earlier  years  on  men  whose 
honest  labour,  if  nothing  else,  ought  to  have  pro- 
tected them  against  such  cruel  onslaughts.  Grote's 
style  may  not  be  the  very  best  for  an  historian,  but 
in  his  Quellenstudium  he  was  surely  most  conscien- 
tious. Yet  this  is  what  Rusk  in  wrote  of  him  : 
*'  There  is  probably  no  commercial  establishment 
between  Charing  Cross  and  the  Bank,  whose  head 
clerk  could  not  have  written  a  better  History  of 
Greece,  if  he  had  the  vanity  to  waste  his  time  on 
it."  Of  Gibbon's  classical  work  he  spoke  with 
even  greater  contempt.  "  Gibbon's  is  the  worst 
English  ever  written  by  an  educated    English- 


Literary  Recollections  147 

man.  Having  no  imagination  and  little  logic,  he 
is  alike  incapable  either  of  picturesqueness  or  wit, 
his  epithets  are  malicious  without  point,  sonorous 
without  weight,  and  have  no  office  but  to  make  a 
flat  sentence  turgid."  I  feel  sure  that  Euskin,  such 
as  I  knew  him  in  later  years,  would  have  wished 
these  sentences  unwritten. 

He  was  really  the  most  tolerant  and  agreeable 
man  in  society.  He  could  discover  beauty  where 
no  one  else  could  see  it,  and  make  allowance  where 
others  saw  no  excuse.  I  remember  him  as  diffi- 
dent as  a  young  girl,  full  of  questions,  and  grateful 
for  any  information.  Even  on  art  topics  I  have 
watched  him  listening  almost  deferentially  to 
others  who  laid  down  the  law  in  his  presence. 
His  voice  was  always  most  winning,  and  his  lan- 
guage simply  perfect.  He  was  one  of  the  few 
Englishmen  I  knew  who,  instead  of  tumbling  out 
their  sentences  like  so  many  portmanteaux,  bags, 
rugs,  and  hat-boxes  from  an  open  railway  van, 
seemed  to  take  a  real  delight  in  building  up  their 
sentences,  even  in  familiar  conversation,  so  as  to 
make  each  deliverance  a  work  of  art.  Later  in 
life  that  even  temperament  may  have  become 
somewhat  changed.  He  had  suffered  much,  and 
one  saw  that  his  wounds  had  not  quite  healed. 
His  public  lectures  as  Professor  of  Fine  Art  were 
most  attractive,  and   extremely  popular  at  first. 


148  Auld  Lang  Syne 

But  they  were  evidently  too  much  for  him,  and  on 
the  advice  of  his  medical  friends  he  had  at  last 
to  cease  from  lecturing  altogether.  Several  times 
his  brain  had  been  a  very  serious  trouble  to  him. 
People  forget  that,  as  we  want  good  eyes  for  see- 
ing, and  good  ears  for  hearing,  we  want  a  strong, 
sound  brain  for  lecturing. 

I  have  seen  much  of  such  brain  troubles  among 
my  friends,  and  who  can  account  for  them  ?  It  is 
not  the  brain  that  thinks,  nor  do  we  think  by  means 
of  our  brain;  but  we  cannot  think  without  our 
brain,  and  the  slightest  lesion  of  our  brain  in  any 
one  of  its  wonderful  convolutions  is  as  bad  as  a 
shot  in  the  eye. 

If  ever  there  was  an  active,  powerful  brain,  it 
was  Ruskin's.  No  doubt  he  worked  very  hard,  but 
I  doubt  whether  hard  work  by  itself  can  ever  upset 
a  healthy  brain.  I  believe  it  rather  strengthens 
than  weakens  it,  as  exercise  strengthens  the  muscles 
of  our  body.  His  was,  no  doubt,  a  very  sensitive 
nature,  and  an  overwrought  sensitiveness  is  much 
more  likely  to  cause  mischief  than  steady  intellect- 
ual effort.  And  what  a  beautiful  mind  his  was,  and 
what  lessons  of  beauty  he  has  taught  us  all.  At 
the  same  time,  he  could  not  bear  anything  unbeau- 
tiful ;  and  anything  low  or  ignoble  in  men  revolted 
him  and  made  him  thoroughly  unhappy.  I  re- 
member once  taking  Emerson  to  lunch  with  him,  in 


Literary  Recollections  149 

his  rooms  in  Corpus  Christi  College.  Emerson 
was  an  old  friend  of  liis,  and  in  many  respects  a 
cognate  soul.  But  some  quite  indifferent  subject 
turned  up,  a  lieated  discussion  ensued,  and  Bus- 
kin was  so  upset  that  he  had  to  quit  the  room  and 
leave  us  alone.  Emerson  was  most  unhappy,  and 
did  all  he  could  to  make  peace,  but  he  had  to  leave 
without  a  reconciliation. 

It  is  very  difficult  to  make  allowance  for  these 
gradual  failui-es  of  brain  power. 

Again  and  again  I  have  seen  such  cases  at  Ox- 
ford, where  men  were  clearly  no  longer  themselves, 
and  yet  had  to  be  treated  as  if  they  were  ;  nay, 
continue  to  exercise  their  old  influence  till  at  last 
the  crash  came,  and  one  began  to  understand  what 
had  seemed  so  strange,  and  more  than  strange,  in 
their  behaviour.  I  believe  there  are  as  many  de- 
grees of  insanity  as  there  are  of  shortsightedness 
and  deafness,  and  the  line  that  divides  sanity  from 
insanity  is  often  very  small.  I  have  had  to  watch 
the  waverings  of  this  line  in  several  cases,  and  it  is 
enough  to  upset  one's  own  equilibrium  to  have  to 
deal  with  a  friend  who  to-day  is  quite  like  himself 
and  quite  like  ourselves,  and  the  next  day  a  raving 
lunatic.  My  predecessor  at  Oxford,  Dr.  Trithen, 
half  Russian,  half  Swiss  by  birth,  and  a  man  of  ex- 
traordinary gifts  and  wonderfully  attractive,  went 
slowly  out  of  his  mind  and  had  at  last  to  bo  sent 


i^o  Auld  Lang  Syne 

to  an  asylum.  But  even  then  he  wrote  the  most 
reasonable  and  touching  letters  to  me  on  all  sorts 
of  subjects,  though  when  I  went  to  see  him  he  was 
quite  unapproachable.  Fortunately  he  died  soon 
after  from  brain  disease,  but  who  could  say  what 
was  the  cause  of  it  ?  Nothing  remains  of  him  but 
the  edition  of  a  Sanskrit  play,  the  Vii-acharitra. 

But  his  knowledge  of  Sanskrit  and  all  sorts  of 
languages,  his  peculiar  power  of  mimicry  in  imitat- 
ing the  exact  pronunciation  of  different  dialects, 
and  his  knack  of  copying  Oriental  MSS.  so  that 
one  could  hardly  tell  the  difference  between  the 
original  and  the  copy  were  quite  amazing.  He 
might  have  grown  to  be  another  Mezzofanti  if  the 
fates  had  not  been  against  him.  He  was  the  very 
type  of  a  fascinating  Kussian,  full  of  kindness  and 
courtesy,  sparkling  in  conversation,  always  ready 
to  help  others  and  most  careless  about  himself; 
but  there  always  was  an  expression  in  his  corus- 
cating eyes  which  spoke  of  danger,  and  foreboded 
the  tragedy  which  finished  his  young  and  promis- 
ing life. 

Painful  as  these  intellectual  breakdowns  are, 
they  are  not  half  so  painful  as  when  we  see  in  our 
friends  what  is  at  first  called  mere  wrongheaded- 
ness,  but  is  apt  to  lead  to  a  complete  deterioration 
of  moral  fibre,  and  in  the  end  to  an  apparent  ina- 
bility to  distinguish  between  right  and  wrong,  be- 


Literary  Recollections  151 

tween  truth  and  falsehood.  In  the  former  case  we 
know  that  a  slight  lesion  in  one  of  the  ganglion  cells 
or  nerve-fibres  of  the  brain  is  sufficient  to  account 
for  any  disturbance  in  the  intellectual  clock-work. 
The  man  himself  remains  the  same,  though  at 
times  hidden  from  us,  as  it  were,  by  a  veil,  and  we 
feel  towards  him  the  same  sorrowful  sympathy 
which  we  feel  towards  a  man  who  has  lost  the  use 
of  his  eyes  or  his  legs,  who  cannot  see  or  cannot 
walk.  We  know  that  the  instruments  are  at  fault, 
not  the  operator.  But  it  is  very  diflficult  to  make 
the  same  allowance  in  cases  of  moral  deterioration. 
Here  instruments  and  operator  seem  to  be  the 
same,  though,  for  all  we  know,  here  too  the  brain 
may  be  more  at  fault  than  the  heart.  A  well- 
known  oculist  maintained  that  the  peculiarities, 
or  what  he  called  the  distortions,  in  Turner's  latest 
pictures  were  due  to  a  malformation  in  the  mus- 
cles of  his  eyes.  He  actually  invented  some  spec- 
tacles by  which  everything  that  seemed  ill-propor- 
tioned in  Turner's  latest  productions  came  right 
if  looked  at  through  these  corrective  lenses.  May 
not  what  we  call  shortsightedness,  conceit,  vanity, 
envy,  hatred  and  malice — all,  as  it  seems,  without 
rhyme  or  reason — be  due  in  the  beginning  to  some 
weakness  or  dimness  of  sight  that  might  have 
been  corrected,  if  treated  in  time,  by  those  who 
are  nearest  and  dearest  to  the  sufferer  ?    This  may 


ij*!  Auld  Lang  Syne 

seem  a  dangerous  view  of  moral  responsibility; 
but,  if  so,  it  can  be  dangerous  to  the  sufferer  only, 
not  to  those  who  ought  to  sympathise,  i.e.  to  feel 
and  suffer,  with  him.  To  me  it  has  proved  a  solu- 
tion of  many  diflSculties  during  a  long  and  varied 
intercourse  with  men  and  women ;  the  only  diffi- 
culty is  how  to  make  these  invalids  harmless  to 
themselves. 

Euskin's  influence  among  the  undergraduates  at 
Oxford  was  most  extraordinary.  He  could  per- 
suade the  young  Christ  Church  men  to  take  spade 
and  wheelbarrow  and  help  him  to  make  a  road 
which  he  thought  would  prove  useful  to  a  vil- 
lage near  Oxford.  No  other  professor  could  have 
achieved  that.  The  road  was  made,  but  was  also 
soon  washed  away,  and,  of  course,  Kuskin  was 
laughed  at,  though  the  labour  undergone  by  his 
pupils  did  them  no  doubt  a  great  deal  of  good,  even 
though  it  did  not  benefit  the  inhabitants  of  the 
village  for  any  length  of  time.  It  was  sad  to  see 
Ruskin  leave  Oxford  estranged  from  many  of  his 
friends,  dissatisfied  with  his  work,  which  neverthe- 
less was  most  valuable  and  highly  appreciated  by 
voung  and  old,  perhaps  by  the  young  even  more 
than  by  the  old.  His  spirit  still  dwells  in  the 
body,  and  if  any  one  may  look  back  with  pride  and 
satisfaction  upon  the  work  which  he  has  achieved 
it  is  surely  Euskin. 


Literary  Recollections  153 

Another  tliough  less  frequent  visitor  to  Oxford 
was  Tennyson.  His  first  visit  to  our  house  was 
rather  alarming.  We  lived  in  a  small  house  in 
High  Street,  nearly  opposite  Magdalen  College, 
and  our  establishment  was  not  calculated  to  receive 
sudden  guests,  particularly  a  Poet  Laureate.  He 
stepped  in  one  day  during  the  long  vacation,  when 
Oxford  was  almost  empty.  Wishing  to  show  the 
great  man  all  civility,  we  asked  him  to  dinner  that 
night  and  breakfast  the  next  morning.  At  that 
time  almost  all  the  shops  were  in  the  market,  which 
closed  at  one  o'clock.  My  wife,  a  young  house- 
keeper, did  her  best  for  our  honoured  guest.  He 
was  known  to  be  a  gourmand,  and  at  dinner  he  was 
evidently  put  out  when  he  found  the  sauce  with 
the  salmon  was  not  the  one  he  preferred.  He  was 
pleased,  however,  with  the  wing  of  a  chicken,  and 
said  it  was  the  only  advantage  he  got  from  being 
Poet  Laureate,  that  he  generally  received  the  liver- 
wing  of  a  chicken.  The  next  morning  at  breakfast 
we  had  rather  plumed  ourselves  on  having  been 
able  to  get  a  dish  of  cutlets,  and  were  not  a  little 
surprised  when  our  guest  arrived  to  see  him  whip 
off  the  cover  of  the  hot  dish,  and  to  hear  the  ex- 
clamation :  "  Mutton  chops !  the  staple  of  every 
bad  inn  in  England."  However,  these  were  but 
minor  matters,  though  not  without  importance  at 
the  time  in  the  eyes  of  a  young  wife  to  whom  Ten- 


154  Auld  Lang  Syne 

nyson  had  been  like  one  of  the  Immortals.  He 
was  simply  delightful  and  full  of  inquiries  about 
the  East,  more  particularly  about  Indian  poetry, 
and  I  believe  that  it  was  then  that  I  told  him  that 
there  was  no  rhyme  in  Sanskrit  poetry,  and  vent- 
ured to  ask  him  why  there  should  be  in  English. 
He  was  not  so  offended  as  Samuel  Johnson  seems 
to  have  been  when  asked  the  same  question.  The 
old  bear  would  probably  have  answered  my  ques- 
tion by,  "  You  are  a  great  fool,  sir ;  use  your  own 
judgment,"  while  Tennyson  gave  the  very  sensible 
answer  that  rhyme  assisted  the  memory. 

It  is  difficult  to  define  the  difference  between  an 
Oxford  man  and  a  Cambridge  man  ;  but  if  Kuskin 
was  decidedly  a  representative  of  Oxford,  Tenny- 
son was  a  true  son  of  the  sister  University.  I  had 
been  taught  to  admire  Tennyson  by  my  young 
friends  at  Oxford,  many  of  whom  were  enthusias- 
tic worshippers  of  the  poet.  My  friends  often 
forgot  that  I  had  been  brought  up  on  German 
poetry,  and  that  though  I  knew  Heine,  Eiickert, 
Eichendorff,  Chamisso,  and  Geibel,  to  say  nothing 
of  Goethe,  Schiller,  Burger,  and  even  Klopstock 
their  allusions  to  Tennyson,  Browning,  nay,  to 
Shelley  and  Keats,  often  fell  by  the  wayside  and 
were  entirely  lost  on  me. 

However,  I   soon   learnt   to   enjoy   Tennyson's 
poetry,  its  fijiish,  its  delicacy,  its  moderation — I 


Literary  Recollections  155 

mean,  the  absence  of  all  extravagance ;  yet  there 
is  but  one  of  his  books  which  has  remained  with 
me  a  treasure  for  life,  his  "In  Memoriam."  To 
have  expressed  such  deep,  true,  and  original 
thought  as  is  contained  in  each  of  these  short 
poems  in  such  perfect  language,  to  say  nothing  of 
rhyme,  was  indeed  a  triumph.  Tennyson  was 
very  kind  to  me,  and  took  a  warm  interest  in  my 
work,  particularly  in  my  mythological  studies.  I 
well  remember  his  being  struck  by  a  metaphor  in 
my  first  Essay  on  Comparative  Mythology,  pub- 
lished in  1856,  and  his  telling  me  so.  I  had  said 
that  the  sun  in  his  daily  passage  across  the  sky 
had  ploughed  a  golden  furrow  through  the  human 
brain,  whence  sprang  in  ancient  times  the  first 
germs  of  mythology,  and  afterwards  the  rich 
harvest  of  religious  thought. 

"  I  don't  know,"  he  said,  "  whether  the  simile  is 
quite  correct,  but  I  like  it."  I  was  of  course  very 
proud  that  the  great  poet  should  have  pondered 
on  any  sentence  of  mine,  and  stiU  more  that  he 
should  have  approved  of  my  theory  of  seeing  in 
mj^thology  a  poetical  interpretation  of  the  great 
phenomena  of  nature.  But  it  was  difficult  to  have 
a  long  discussion  with  him.  He  was  fond  of  utter- 
ing short  and  decisive  sentences :  his  yes  was  yes 
indeed,  and  his  no  was  no  indeed. 

It  was  generally  after  dinner,  when  smoking  his 


1^6  Auld  Lang  Syne 

pipe  and  sipping  his  wliiskey  and  water,  that  Ten- 
nyson began  to  thaw,  and  to  take  a  more  active 
part  in  conversation.  People  who  have  not  known 
him  then,  have  hardly  known  him  at  all.  During 
the  day  he  was  often  very  silent  and  absorbed  in 
his  own  thoughts,  but  in  the  evening  he  took  an 
active  part  in  the  conversation  of  his  friends.  His 
pipe  was  almost  indispensable  to  him,  and  I  re- 
member one  time  when  I  and  several  friends  were 
staying  at  his  house,  the  question  of  tobacco  turned 
up.  I  confessed  that  for  years  I  had  been  a  per- 
fect slave  to  tobacco,  so  that  I  could  neither  read 
nor  write  a  line  without  smoking,  but  that  at  last 
I  had  rebelled  against  this  slavery,  and  had  en- 
tirely given  up  tobacco.  Some  of  his  friends 
taunted  Tennyson  that  he  could  never  give  up  to- 
bacco. "  Anybody  can  do  that,"  he  said,  "  if  he 
chooses  to  do  it."  When  his  friends  still  con- 
tinued to  doubt  and  to  tease  him,  "  Well,"  he  said, 
"I  shall  give  up  smoking  from  to-night."  The 
very  same  evening  I  was  told  that  he  threw  his 
pipes  and  his  tobacco  out  of  the  window  of  his 
bedroom.  The  next  day  he  was  most  charming, 
though  somewhat  self-righteous.  The  second  day 
he  became  very  moody  and  captious,  the  third  day 
no  one  knew  what  to  do  with  him.  But  after  a 
disturbed  night  I  was  told  that  he  got  out  of  bed 
in   the   morning,    went   quietly   into   the  garden, 


Literary  Recollections  157 

picked  up  one  of  his  broken  pipes,  stuffed  it  with 
the  remains  of  the  tobacco  scattered  about,  and 
then,  having  had  a  few  puffs,  came  to  breakfast,  all 
right  again.  Nothing  was  said  any  more  about 
giving  up  tobacco. 

He  once  very  kindly  offered  to  lend  me  his 
house  in  the  Isle  of  Wight.  "  But  mind,"  he  said, 
"  you  will  be  watched  from  morning  till  evening." 
This  was  in  fact  his  great  grievance,  that  he  could 
not  go  out  without  being  stared  at.  Once  taking  a 
walk  with  me  and  my  wife  on  the  downs  behind 
his  house,  he  suddenly  started,  left  us,  and  ran 
home,  simply  because  he  had  descried  two  strang- 
ers coming  towards  us. 

I  was  told  that  he  once  complained  to  the  Queen, 
and  said  that  he  could  no  longer  stay  in  the  Isle  of 
Wight,  on  account  of  the  tourists  who  came  to  stare 
at  him.  The  Queen,  with  a  kindly  irony,  remarked 
that  she  did  not  suffer  much  from  that  grievance, 
but  Tennyson,  not  seeing  what  she  meant,  replied  . 
"  No,  madam,  and  if  I  could  clap  a  sentiael  wher- 
ever I  liked,  I  should  not  be  troubled  either." 

It  must  be  confessed  that  people  were  very  in- 
considerate. Kows  of  tourists  sat  like  sparrows 
on  the  paling  of  his  garden,  waiting  for  his  ap- 
pearance. The  guides  were  actually  paid  by  sight- 
seers, particularly  by  those  from  America,  for 
showing  them  the  great  poet.     Nay,  they  went  so 


ij'S  Auld  Lang  Syne 

far  as  to  dress  up  a  sailor  to  look  like  Tennyson, 
and  the  result  was  that,  after  their  trick  had  been 
found  out,  the  tourists  would  walk  up  to  Tenny- 
son and  ask  him  :  "  Now,  are  you  the  real  Tenny- 
son ?  "  This,  no  doubt,  was  very  annoying,  and 
later  on  Lord  Tennyson  was  driven  to  pay  a  large 
sum  for  some  useless  downs  near  his  house,  sim- 
ply in  order  to  escape  from  the  attentions  of  ad- 
miring travellers. 

Why  should  not  people  be  satisfied  with  the 
best  that  a  poet  is  and  can  give  them,  namely  his 
poetry  ?  Why  should  they  wish  to  stare  at  him  ? 
Few  poets  are  greater  than  their  poetry,  and  Ten- 
nyson was  not  one  of  them.  Like  all  really  great 
men,  Tennyson  disliked  the  worship  that  was  paid 
him  by  many  who  came  to  stare  at  him  and  to 
pour  out  the  usual  phrases  of  admiration  before 
him.  Tennyson  frequently  took  flight  from  his 
intending  Boswells,  and  he  was  the  very  last  man 
to  appreciate  the  "  II  parle"  by  which  in  Paris  all 
conversation  was  hushed  whenever  Victor  Hugo 
was  present  at  a  dinner  and  spoke  to  his  neigh- 
bour, possibly  only  to  ask  him  for  the  memt. 

People  have  learnt  after  his  death  what  a  posses- 
sion they  had  in  Tennyson.  He  may  not  rank 
among  the  greatest  poets  of  England,  but  there 
was  something  high  and  noble  in  him  which  re- 
acted on  the  nation  at  large,  even  though  that 


Literary  Recollections  159 

influence  was  not  perhaps  consciously  realised. 
Anyhow,  after  his  death,  it  was  widely  felt  that 
there  was  nobody  worthy  to  fill  his  place ;  and 
why  was  it  not  left  empty,  as  in  the  Greek  army, 
where,  we  are  told,  a  place  of  honour  was  reserved 
for  a  great  hero  who  was  supposed  to  be  present 
during  the  heat  of  the  battle,  and  to  inspire  those 
w^ho  stood  near  his  place  to  great  deeds  of  valour  ? 
Browning  was  neither  of  Cambridge  nor  of  Ox- 
ford, but  his  genius  was  much  more  akin  to  Oxford 
than  to  Cambridge,  and  towards  the  end  of  his  life, 
particularly  after  his  son  had  entered  at  Balliol 
College,  he  was  very  often  seen  amongst  us.  Though 
he  was  not  what  we  call  a  scholar,  his  mind  was 
saturated  with  classical  lore,  and  his  appreciation 
of  Greek  poetry,  Greek  mythology,  and  Greek 
sculpture  was  very  keen.  He  could  not  quote 
Greek  verses,  but  he  was  steeped  in  the  Greek 
tragedians  and  lyric  poets.  Of  course  this  clas- 
sical sympathy  was  but  one  side  of  his  poetry. 
Browning  was  full  of  sympathy,  nay,  of  worship, 
for  anything  noble  and  true  in  literature,  ancient 
or  modern.  And  what  was  most  delightful  in  him 
was  his  ready  response,  his  generosity  in  pouiing 
out  his  own  thoughts  before  anybody  who  shared 
his  sympathies.  For  real  and  substantial  conver- 
sation there  was  no  one  his  equal,  and  even  in 
the  lighter  after-dinner  talk  he  was  admirable.   His 


i6o  Auld  Lang  Syne 

health  seemed  good,  and  he  was  able  to  sacrifice 
much  of  his  time  to  society.  He  had  one  great 
advantage,  he  never  consented  to  spoil  his  dinner 
by  making,  or,  what  is  still  worse,  by  having  to 
make,  a  speech.  I  once  felt  greatly  aggrieved,  sit- 
ting opposite  Browning  at  one  of  the  Ro^'al  Acad- 
emy dinners.  I  had  to  return  thanks  for  hterature 
and  scholarship,  and  was  of  course  rehearsing  my 
speech  during  the  whole  of  dinner-time,  while  he 
enjoyed  himself  talking  to  his  friends.  When  I 
told  him  that  it  was  a  shame  that  I  should  be  made 
a  martyr  of  while  he  was  enjoying  his  dinner  in 
peace,  he  laughed,  and  said  that  he  had  said  No 
once  for  all,  and  that  he  had  never  in  his  life  made 
a  public  speech.  I  believe,  as  a  mle,  poets  are  not 
good  speakers.  They  are  too  careful  about  what 
they  wish  to  say.  As  dinner  advanced  I  became 
more  and  more  convinced  of  the  etymological 
identity  of  lionor  and  onus.  At  last  my  turn  came. 
Having  to  face  the  brilliant  society  which  is  al- 
ways present  at  this  dinner,  including  the  Prince 
of  "Wales,  the  Ministers  of  both  parties,  the  most 
eminent  artists,  scientists,  authors  and  critics,  I 
had  of  course  leamt  my  speech  by  heart,  and  was 
getting  on  very  well,  when  suddenly  I  saw  the 
Prince  of  Wales  laughing  and  saj'ing  something  to 
his  neighbour.  At  once  the  tlu'ead  of  my  speech 
was  broken.     I  becrau  to  tliink  whether  I  could 


Literary  Recollections  161 

have  said  anything  that  made  the  Prince  laugh, 
and  what  it  could  have  been,  and  while  I  was 
thinking  in  every  direction,  I  suddenly  stood 
speechless.  I  thought  it  was  an  eternity,  and 
I  was  afraid  I  should  have  to  collapse  and  make 
the  greatest  fool  of  myself  that  ever  was.  I 
looked  at  Browning  and  he  gave  me  a  friendly  nod, 
and  at  that  moment  my  grapple-irons  caught  the 
lost  cable  and  I  was  able  to  finish  my  speech. 
When  it  was  over  I  turned  to  Browning  and  said  : 
"  Was  it  not  fearful,  that  pause  ?  "  "  Far  from  it," 
he  said,  "it  was  excellent.  It  gave  life  to  your 
speech.  Everybody  saw  you  were  collecting  your 
thoughts,  and  that  you  were  not  simply  delivering 
what  you  had  learnt  by  heart.  Besides,  it  did  not 
last  half  a  minute."  To  me  it  had  seemed  at  least 
five  or  ten  minutes.  But  after  Browning's  good- 
natured  words  I  felt  relieved,  and  enjoyed  at  least 
what  was  left  of  a  most  enjoyable  dinner,  the  only 
enjoyable  public  dinner  I  know. 

The  best  place  to  see  Browning  was  Venice,  and 
I  think  it  was  there  that  I  saw  him  for  the  last 
time.  He  was  staying  in  one  of  the  smaller  pal- 
aces with  a  friend,  and  he  was  easily  persuaded 
to  read  some  of  his  poems.  I  asked  him  for  his 
poem  on  Andrea  del  Sarto,  and  his  delivery  was 
most  simple  and  yet  most  telling.  He  was  a  far 
better  reader  than  Tennyson.     His  voice  was  nat- 


i62  Auld  Lang  Syne 

ural,  sonorous,  and  full  of  delicate  sliades ;  while 
Tennyson  read  in  so  deep  a  tone,  that  it  was  like 
the  rumbling  and  rolling  sound  of  the  sea  rather 
than  like  a  human  voice.  His  admirers,  both  gen- 
tlemen and  ladies,  who  thought  that  everything  he 
did  must  be  perfect,  encouraged  him  in  that  kind 
of  delivery ;  and  while  to  me  it  seemed  that  he 
had  smothered  and  murdered  some  of  the  poems  I 
liked  best,  they  sighed  and  groaned  and  poured 
out  strange  interjections,  meant  to  be  indicative  of 
rapture. 

There  is  a  definiteness  in  Tennyson's  poetry 
which  makes  it  easy  to  recite  and  even  to  declaim 
his  poems,  while  many  of  Browning's  composi- 
tions do  not  lend  themselves  at  all  to  viva  voce 
repetition.  There  is  always  a  superabundance  of 
thought  and  feeling  in  them,  and  his  mastery  of 
rhyme  and  rhythm  proved  a  temptation  which  he 
could  not  always  resist.  One  often  wished  that 
some  of  BroAvning's  poems  could  have  passed 
through  the  Tennysonian  sieve,  to  take  away  all 
that  is  imnecessary  in  them,  and  to  moderate  his 
exuberant  revelling  in  language.  Still  his  friends 
know  what  they  possess  in  his  poetry.  When 
they  are  sad,  he  makes  them  joyful ;  when  they 
exult,  he  tones  them  down ;  when  they  are  hun- 
gry, he  feeds  them  ;  when  they  are  poor,  he  makes 
them  rich ;  and,  like  a  true  prophet,  he  knows  how 


Literary  Recollections  163 

to  bring  fresh  water  out  of  the  rocks,  out  of  the 
comniouost  events  in  our  journey  thro\igli  the 
desert  of  life.  It  is  a  pity  that  his  poetry  does 
not  lend  itself  to  translation.  Perhaps  he  is  too 
thoroughly  English,  perhaps  his  sentences  are  too 
labyrinthine  even  for  German  readers.  Anyhow, 
Browning  is  known  abroad  mnch  less  than  Ten- 
nyson, and  if  translatableness  is  a  test  of  true 
poetry,  his  poetry  would  not  stand  that  test  Avell, 

To  have  known  such  men  as  Tennyson  and 
Browning  is  indeed  a  rare  fortime.  It  helps  us 
in  two  ways.  AVe  are  preserved  from  extravagant 
admiration,  which  is  always  stupid  ;  and,  on  the 
other  hand,  we  can  enjoy  even  insiguilieant  verses 
of  theirs,  as  commg  from  our  friends  and  lighting 
up  some  corner  of  their  character.  There  are 
cases  where  personal  acquaintance  with  the  poets 
actually  spoils  our  taste  for  their  poetry,  which  we 
might  otherwise  have  enjoyed  ;  and  to  imagine 
that  one  knows  a  poet  better  because  one  has  once 
shaken  hands  -wdth  him,  is  a  fatal  mistake.  It 
would  be  far  better  to  go  at  once  to  Westminster 
Abbey,  and  spend  a  few  thoughtful  moments  at 
the  tombs  of  such  poets  as  Tennyson  or  Brown- 
ing, for  there,  at  all  events,  there  would  be  no 
disappointment. 


LITERARY   RECOLLECTIONS 

IV 

Authors  complain,  and  in  many  cases  complain 
justly,  of  the  large  number  of  letters  and  visits 
which  they  receive  from  unknown  friends  and  dis- 
tant admirers.  I  myself,  though  the  subjects  on 
which  I  write  are  not  exactly  popular,  have  been 
sitting  at  the  receipt  of  such  custom  for  many 
years.  It  is  difficult  to  know  what  to  do.  To  an- 
swer all  the  letters,  even  to  acknowledge  all  the 
books  that  are  sent  to  me  from  India,  Australia, 
New  Zealand,  from  every  new  sphere  of  influence 
in  Africa,  from  America,  North  and  South,  and 
from  the  principal  countries  of  Europe,  would  be 
physically  impossible.  A  simple  knowledge  of 
arithmetic  would  teach  my  friends  that  if  I  were 
only  to  glance  at  a  book  in  order  to  give  an  opin- 
ion, or  say  something  pleasant  about  it,  one  hour 
at  least  of  my  time  in  the  morning  wovld  certainly 
be  consumed  by  every  single  book.  Every  writer 
imagines  that  he  is  the  only  one  who  writes  a  let- 
ter, asks  a  question,  or  sends  a  book  ;  but  he  for- 

164 


Literary  Recollections  165 

gets  tliat  in  this  respect  everybody  has  as  much 
right  as  everyboclj^  else,  and  claims  it  too,  unmind- 
ful of  the  rights  of  others,  and  quite  unconscious 
that  the  sum  total  of  such  interruptions  would 
swallow  up  the  whole  of  a  man's  working  day. 
And  there  is  this  further  danger  :  however  guard- 
ed one  may  be  in  expressing  one's  gratitude  or 
one's  opinion  of  the  merits  of  a  book,  one's  letter 
is  apt  to  appear  in  advertisements,  if  only  far 
away  in  India  or  the  Colonies  ;  nay,  we  often  find 
that  the  copy  of  a  book  was  not  even  sent  us  by 
the  author  himself,  but  with  the  author's  compli- 
ments, that  is,  by  an  enterprising  publisher. 

However,  there  is  a  compensation  in  all  things, 
and  I  gladly  confess  that  I  have  occasionally  de- 
rived great  advantage  from  the  letters  of  my  un- 
known friends.  They  have  sent  me  valuable  cor- 
rections and  useful  remarks  for  my  books,  they 
have  made  me  presents  of  MSS.  and  local  publica- 
tions difficult  to  get  even  at  the  Bodleian  and  the 
British  Museum,  and  I  feel  sure  that  they  have 
not  been  offended  even  though  I  could  not  enter 
into  a  long  correspondence  with  every  one  of  my 
epistolary  friends  on  the  origin  of  language  or  the 
home  of  the  Aryan  race.  My  worst  friends  are 
those  who  send  me  their  own  writings  and  wish 
me  to  give  an  opinion,  or  to  find  a  publisher  for 
them.    Had  I  attempted  to  comply  with  one  half 


i66  Auld  Lang  Syne 

of  tliese  requests,  I  could  have  done  nothing  else 
in  life.  What  would  become  of  me  if  everybody 
who  cannot  find  a  publisher  were  to  write  to  me ! 
The  introduction  of  postcards  has  proved,  no 
doubt,  a  great  blessing  to  all  who  are  supposed  to 
be  oracles,  but  even  an  oracular  response  takes 
time.  Speaking  for  myself,  I  may  truly  say  that 
I  often  feel  tempted  to  write  to  a  man  who  is  an 
authority  on  a  special  subject  on  which  I  want  in- 
formation. I  know  he  could  answer  my  question 
in  five  minutes,  and  yet  I  hardly  ever  venture  to 
make  the  appeal,  but  go  to  a  library,  where  I  have 
to  waste  hours  and  hours  in  finding  the  right  book, 
and  afterwards  the  right  passage  in  it.  Why 
should  not  others  do  the  same? 

And  what  applies  to  letters  applies  to  personal 
visits  also.  I  do  sometimes  get  impatient  when 
perfect  strangers  call  on  me  without  any  kind  of 
introduction,  sometimes  even  without  a  visiting 
card,  and  then  sit  down  to  propound  some  theory 
of  their  own.  Still,  taking  all  in  all,  I  must  not 
complain  of  my  visitors.  They  do  not  come  in 
shoals  like  letters  and  books,  and  very  often  they 
are  interesting  and  even  delightful.  Many  of 
them  come  from  America,  and  the  mere  fact  that 
they  want  to  see  me  is  a  compliment  which  I  ap- 
preciate. They  have  read  my  books,  that  is  an- 
other compliment  which  I  always  value  ;  and  they 


Literary  Recollections  167 

often  speak  to  me  of  things  that  years  ago  I  have 
said  in  some  article  of  mine,  and  which  I  myself 
have  often  quite  forgotten. 

It  strikes  me  that  Americans  possess  in  a  very 
high  degree  the  gift  of  sight-seeing.  They  possess 
w^hat  at  school  was  called  pace.  They  travel  over 
England  in  a  fortnight,  but  at  the  end  they  seem  to 
have  seen  all  that  is,  and  all  who  are,  worth  seeing. 
We  wonder  how  they  can  enjoy  anything.  But 
they  do  enjoy  what  they  see,  and  they  carry  away 
a  great  many  photographs,  not  only  in  their  albums 
but  in  their  memory  also.  The  fact  is  that  they 
generally  come  well  prepared,  and  know  beforehand 
what  they  want  to  see ;  and,  after  all,  there  are 
limits  to  ever}^thing.  If  we  have  only  a  quarter 
of  an  hour  to  look  at  the  Madonna  di  San  Sisto, 
may  not  that  short  exposure  give  us  an  excellent 
negative  in  our  memory,  if  only  our  brain  is  sensi- 
tive, and  the  lens  of  our  eyes  clear  and  strong? 
The  Americans,  knowing  that  their  time  is  limited, 
make  certainly  an  excellent  use  of  it,  and  seem  to 
carry  away  more  than  many  travellers  who  stand 
for  hours  with  open  mouths  before  a  Raphael,  and 
in  the  end  know  no  more  of  the  picture  than  of  the 
frame.  It  requires  sharp  eyes  and  a  strong  will  to 
see  much  in  a  short  time.  Some  portrait  painters, 
for  instance,  catch  a  likeness  in  a  few  minutes; 
others  sit  and  sit,  and  stare  and  stare,  and  alter 


l68  Auld  Lang  Syne 

and  alter,  and  never  perceive  the  real   character- 
istic points  in  a  face. 

It  is  the  same  with  the  American  interviewer. 
I  do  not  like  him,  and  I  think  he  ought  at  all 
events  to  tell  us  that  we  are  being  interviewed. 
Even  ancient  statues  are  protected  now  against 
snap-shots  in  the  museums  of  antiquities.  But 
with  all  that  I  cannot  help  admiring  him.  His 
skill,  in  the  cases  where  I  have  been  under  his 
scalpel  or  before  his  brush,  has  certainly  been  ex- 
traordinary, and  several  of  them  seem  to  have  seen 
in  my  house,  in  my  garden,  in  my  library,  and  in 
my  face,  what  I  myself  had  never  detected  there, 
and  all  that  in  about  half  an  hour.  I  remember 
one  visit,  however,  which  was  rather  humiliating. 
An  American  gentleman  (I  did  not  know  that  he 
was  interviewing  me)  had  been  sitting  with  me  for 
a  long  time,  asking  all  sorts  of  questions  and  mak- 
ing evidently  a  trigonometrical  survey  of  myself 
and  my  surroundings.  At  last  I  had  to  tell  him 
that  I  was  sorry  I  had  to  go,  as  I  had  to  deliver  a 
lecture.  As  he  seemed  so  interested  in  my  work  I 
naturally  expected  he  would  ask  me  to  allow  him 
to  hear  my  lecture.  Nothing  of  the  kind  !  "I 
am  sorry,"  he  said,  *'  but  you  don't  mind  my  sitting 
here  in  your  library  till  you  come  back  ?  "  And, 
true  enough,  there  I  found  him  when  I  came  home 
after  an  hour,  and  he  was   delighted   to  see  me 


Literary  Recollections  169 

again.  Some  months  after  I  had  my  reward  in  a 
most  charming  account  of  an  interview  with  Pro- 
fessor Max  Miiller,  published  in  an  American  jour- 
nal. This  power  of  observation  which  these  inter- 
viewers, and  to  a  certain  extent  most  American 
travellers,  seem  to  possess,  is  highly  valuable,  and 
as  most  of  us  cannot  hope  to  have  more  than  a  few 
Lours  to  see  such  monuments  as  St.  Peter  or  Santa 
Sophia,  or  such  giants  as  Tennyson  or  Browning, 
we  ought  to  take  a  leaf  out  of  the  book  of  our 
American  friends,  and  try  to  acquire  some  of  their 
pace  and  go. 

And  then,  America  does  not  send  us  interview- 
ers only,  but  nearly  all  their  most  eminent  men 
and  their  most  charming  women  pay  us  the  com- 
pliment of  coming  over  to  the  old  country.  They 
generally  cannot  give  us  more  than  a  few  days,  or 
it  may  be  a  few  hours  only;  and  in  that  short 
space  we  also  have  to  learn  how  to  measure  them, 
how  to  appreciate  and  love  them.  It  has  to  be 
done  quickly,  or  not  at  all.  Living  at  Oxford,  I 
have  had  the  good  fortune  of  receiving  visits  from 
Emerson,  Dr.  Wendell  Holmes,  and  Lowell,  to 
speak  of  the  brightest  stars  only.  Each  of  them 
stayed  at  our  house  for  several  days,  so  that  I 
could  take  them  in  at  leisure,  while  others  had  to 
be  taken  at  one  gulp,  often  between  one  train  and 
the  next.     Oxford  has   a  great  attraction  for  all 


lyo  Auld  Lang  Syne 

Americans,  and  it  is  a  pleasure  to  see  how  com- 
pletely at  home  they  feel  in  the  memories  of  the 
place.  The  days  when  Emerson,  Wendell  Holmes, 
and  Lowell  were  staying  with  us,  the  breakfasts 
and  luncheons,  the  teas  and  dinners,  and  the  de- 
lightful walks  through  college  halls,  chapels  and 
gardens  are  possessions  for  ever. 

Emerson,  I  am  grieved  to  say,  when  during  his 
last  visit  to  England  he  spent  some  days  with  us, 
accompanied  and  watched  over  by  his  devoted 
daughter,  was  already  on  the  brink  of  that  mis- 
fortune which  overtook  him  in  his  old  age.  His 
memory  often  failed  him,  but  as  through  a  mist 
the  bright  and  warm  sun  of  his  mind  was  always 
shining,  and  many  of  his  questions  and  answers 
have  remained  engraved  in  my  memory,  weak  and 
shaky  as  that  too  begins  to  be.  I  had  forgotten 
that  Emerson  had  ceased  to  be  an  active  preacher, 
and  I  told  him  that  I  rather  envied  him  the  op- 
portunity of  speaking  now  and  then  to  his  friends 
and  neighbours  on  subjects  on  which  we  can  sel- 
dom speak  except  in  church.  He  then  told  me 
not  only  what  he  had  told  others,  that  "  he  had 
had  enough  of  it,"  but  he  referred  to  an  episode  in 
his  life,  or  rather  in  that  of  his  brother,  which 
struck  me  as  very  significant  at  the  time.  "  There 
was  an  ecclesiastical  leaven  in  our  family,"  he  said. 
"  My  brother  and  I  were  both  meant  for  the  min- 


Literary  Recollections  171 

istry  in  the  Unitarian  community.  My  brother 
was  sent  by  my  father  to  Germany  (I  believe  to 
Gottingen),  and  after  a  thorough  study  of  theology 
was  returning  to  America.  On  the  voyage  homo 
the  ship  was  caught  in  a  violent  gale,  and  all  hope 
of  saving  the  ship  and  the  lives  of  the  passengers 
was  given  up.  At  that  time  my  brother  said  his 
prayers,  and  made  a  vow  that  if  his  life  should  be 
spared  he  would  never  preach  again,  but  give  up 
theology  altogether  and  earn  an  honest  living  in 
some  other  way.  The  ship  weathered  the  storm, 
my  brother's  life  was  saved,  and,  in  spite  of  all  en- 
treaties, he  kept  his  vow.  Something  of  the  same 
kind  may  have  influenced  me,"  he  added :  "  any- 
how, I  felt  that  there  was  better  work  for  me  to 
do  than  to  preach  from  the  pulpit."  And  so,  no 
doubt,  there  was  for  this  wonderfully  gifted  man, 
particularly  at  the  time  and  in  the  place  where  he 
lived.  A  few  years'  study  at  Gottingen  might 
have  been  useful  to  the  younger  Emerson  by  show- 
ing him  the  track  followed  by  other  explorers  of 
the  unknown  seas  of  religion  and  philosophy,  but 
he  felt  in  himself  the  force  to  grapple  with  the 
great  problems  of  the  world  without  going  first  to 
school  to  learn  how  others  before  him  had  grap- 
pled with  them.  And  this  Avas  perhaps  the  best 
for  him  and  for  us.  His  freshness  and  his  cour- 
age remained  undamped  by  the  failures  of  others, 


172  Auld  Lang  Syne 

and  the  directness  of  Lis  judgment  and  poetical 
intuition  liad  freer  scope  in  his  rhapsodies  than  it 
would  have  had  in  learned  treatises.  I  do  not  won- 
der that  philosophers  by  profession  had  at  first 
nothing  to  say  to  his  essays  because  they  did  not 
seem  to  advance  their  favourite  inquiries  beyond 
the  point  they  had  reached  before.  But  there  were 
many  people,  particularly  in  America,  to  whom 
these  rhapsodies  did  more  good  than  any  learned 
disquisitions  or  carefully  arranged  sermons.  There 
is  in  them  what  attracts  us  so  much  in  the  an- 
cients, freshness,  directness,  self-confidence,  un- 
swerving loyalty  to  truth,  as  far  as  they  could  see  it. 
He  had  no  one  to  fear,  no  one  to  please.  Socrates 
or  Plato,  if  suddenly  brought  to  life  again  in 
America,  might  have  spoken  like  Emerson,  and 
the  effect  produced  by  Emerson  was  certainly  like 
that  produced  by  Socrates  in  olden  times. 

What  Emerson's  personal  charm  must  have  been 
in  earlier  life  we  can  only  conjecture  from  the 
rapturous  praises  bestowed  on  him  by  his  friends, 
even  during  his  lifetime.  A  friend  of  his  who 
had  watched  Emerson  and  his  work  and  his  ever- 
increasing  influence,  declares  without  hesitation 
that  "  the  American  nation  is  more  indebted  to  his 
teaching  than  to  any  other  person  who  has  spoken 
or  written  on  his  themes  during  the  last  twenty 
years."    He  calls  his  genius  "the  measure  and 


Literary  Recollections  173 

present  expansion  of  the  American  mind."  And 
his  influence  was  not  confined  to  the  American 
mind.  I  have  watched  it  growing  in  England.  I 
still  remember  the  time  when  even  experienced 
literary  judges  spoke  of  his  essays  as  mere  decla- 
mations, as  poetical  rhapsodies,  as  poor  imitations 
of  Carlyle.  Then  gradually  one  man  after  another 
found  something  in  Emerson  which  was  not  to  be 
found  in  Carlyle,  particularly  his  loving  heart,  his 
tolerant  spirit,  his  comprehensive  sympathy  with 
all  that  was  or  was  meant  to  be  good  and  true, 
even  though  to  his  own  mind  it  was  neither  the 
one  nor  the  other. 

After  a  time  some  more  searching  critics  were 
amazed  at  sentences  which  spoke  volumes,  and 
showed  that  Emerson,  though  he  had  never  writ- 
ten a  systematic  treatise  on  philosophy,  stood  on 
a  firm  foundation  of  the  accumulated  philosophic 
thought  of  centuries.  Let  us  take  such  a  sentence 
as  "  Generalisation  is  always  a  neiu  infiux  of  divin- 
ity into  the  mind — lience  the  thrill  that  attends."  To 
the  ordinary  reader  such  a  sentence  can  convey 
very  little ;  it  might  seem,  in  fact,  a  mere  exagger- 
ation. But  to  those  who  know  the  long  history 
of  thought  connected  with  the  question  of  the  ori- 
gin of  conceptual  thought  as  the  result  of  cease- 
less generalisation,  Emerson's  words  convey  the 
outcome  of  profound  thought.    They  show  that  he 


174  Auld  Lang  Syne 

had  recognised  in  general  ideas,  wliich  are  to  us 
merely  the  result  of  a  never-ceasing  synthesis,  tlie 
original  thoughts  or  logoi  underlying  the  immense 
variety  of  created  things ;  that  he  had  traced  them 
back  to  their  only  possible  source,  the  Divine  Mind, 
and  that  he  saw  how  the  human  mind,  by  rising 
from  particulars  to  the  general,  was  in  reality  ap- 
proaching the  source  of  those  divine  thoughts,  and 
thus  becoming  conscious,  as  it  were,  of  the  influx  of 
divinity.  Other  philosophers  have  expressed  sim- 
ilar thoughts  by  saying  that  induction  is  the  light 
that  leads  us  up,  deduction  the  light  that  leads  us 
down.  Mill  thought  that  generahsation  is  a  mere 
process  of  mother- wit,  of  the  shrewd  and  untaught 
intelligence  ;  and  that,  from  one  narrow  point  of 
view,  it  is  so,  has  been  fully  proved  since  by  an 
analysis  of  language.  Every  word  is  a  generalisa- 
tion, and  contains  in  itself  a  general  idea,  the  so- 
called  root.  These  first  generalisations  are,  no 
doubt,  at  first  the  work  of  mother-wit  and  untaught 
intelligence  only,  and  hence  the  necessity  of  con- 
stantly correcting  them,  whether  by  experience  or  by 
philosophy.  But  these  words  are  nevertheless  the 
foundation  of  all  later  thought,  and  if  they  have 
not  reached  as  yet  the  fulness  of  the  Divine  Lo- 
goi, they  represent  at  least  the  advancing  steps  by 
which  alone  the  human  mind  could  reach,  and 
will  reach  at  last,  the  ideas  of  the  Divine  Mind. 


Literary  Recollections  175 

Thus  one  pregnant  sentence  of  Emerson's  shows, 
when  we  examine  it  more  closely,  that  he  had  seen 
deeper  into  the  mysteries  of  nature,  and  of  the 
human  mind,  than  thousands  of  philosophers,  call 
them  evolutionists  (realists)  or  nominalists.  Evolu- 
tionists imagine  that  they  have  explained  every- 
thing that  requires  explanation  in  nature  if  they 
have  shown  a  more  or  less  continuous  develop- 
ment from  the  moneres  to  man,  from  the  thrills  of 
the  moneres  to  the  thoughts  of  man.  Nominalists 
again  think  that  by  ascending  from  the  single  to 
the  general,  and  by  comprehending  the  single 
under  a  general  name,  they  have  solved  all  the 
questions  involved  in  nature,  that  is,  in  our  com- 
prehension of  nature.  They  never  seem  to  re- 
member that  there  was  a  time  when  all  that  we 
call  either  single  or  general,  but  particularly  all 
that  is  general,  had  for  the  first  time  to  be  con- 
ceived or  created.  Before  there  was  a  single  tree, 
some  one  must  have  thought  the  tree  or  treehood. 
Before  there  was  a  single  ape,  or  a  single  man, 
some  one  must  have  thought  that  apehood  or  that 
manhood  which  we  see  realised  in  every  ape  and 
in  every  man,  unless  we  can  bring  om^selves  to  be- 
lieve in  a  thoughtless  world.  If  that  first  thought 
was  the  concept  of  a  mere  moneres,  still  in  that 
thought  there  must  have  been  the  distant  perspec- 
tive of  ape  or  man,  and  it  is  that  first  thought  alone 


176  Auld  Lang  Syne 

which  to  the  present  day  keeps  the  ape  an  ape,  and 
a  man  a  man.  Divine  is  hardly  a  name  good  enough 
for  that  first  Thinker  of  Thoughts.  Still,  it  is  that 
Divinity  which  Emerson  meant  when  he  said  that 
generalisation  is  always  a  new  influx  of  divinity 
into  the  mind  because  it  reveals  to  the  mind  the 
first  thoughts,  the  Divine  Logoi,  of  the  universe. 
The  thrill  of  which  he  speaks  is  the  thrill  arising 
from  the  nearness  of  the  Divine,  the  sense  of  the 
presence  of  those  Divine  Logoi,  or  that  Divine 
Logos,  which  in  the  beginning  was  with  God,  and 
without  which  not  anything  was  made  that  was 
made.  Evolution  can  never  be  more  than  the 
second  act ;  the  first  act  is  the  Volition  or  the 
Thought  of  the  universe,  unless  we  hold  that 
there  can  be  effect  without  a  cause,  or  a  Kosmos 
without  a  Logos. 

Such  utterances,  lost  almost  in  the  exuberance 
of  Emerson's  thoughts,  mark  the  distinction  be- 
tween a  thoughtful  and  a  shallow  writer,  between 
a  scarred  veteran  and  a  smooth  recruit.  They 
will  give  permanence  to  Emerson's  influence  both 
at  home  and  abroad,  and  place  him  in  the  ranks 
of  those  who  have  not  lived  or  thought  in  vain. 
When  he  left  my  house,  I  knew,  of  course,  that  we 
should  never  meet  again  in  this  life,  but  I  felt  that 
I  had  gained  something  that  could  never  be  taken 
from  me. 


Literary  Recollections  177 

Another  eminent  American  who  often  honoured 
my  quiet  home  at  Oxford  was  James  Russell  Low- 
ell, for  a  time  United  States  Minister  in  England. 
He  was  a  Professor  and  at  the  same  time  a  poli- 
tician and  a  man  of  the  world.  Few  essays  are  so 
brimful  of  interesting  facts  and  original  reflections 
as  his  essays  entitled  "Among  my  Books."  His 
"  Biglovv  Papers,"  which  made  him  one  of  the 
leading  men  in  the  United  States,  appeal  naturally 
to  American  rather  than  to  Cosmopolitan  readers. 
But  in  society  he  was  at  home  in  England  as  much 
as  in  America,  in  Spain  as  well  as  in  Holland. 

I  came  to  know  him  first  as  a  sparkling  corre- 
spondent, and  then  as  a  delightful  friend. 

Here  is  the  letter  which  began  our  intimacy  : — 

Legacion  de  lios  EsTADos  Unidos 
DE  America  en  Espana. 

IStk  Jan.  1880. 

I  read  with  great  satisfaction  what  you  wrote  about  Jac/e.* 

One  is  tempted  to  cry  out,  with  Marlowe's  Tamburlaine, 

"  How  now,  ye  pampered  jades  of  Asia  !  "     One  thing  in 

the  discussion  has  struck  me  a  good  deal,  and  that  is,  the 

*  I  had  written  some  articles  in  The  Times  to  show  that  when 
we  meet  with  jade  tools  in  countries  far  removed  from  the  few 
mines  in  which  jade  is  found,  we  must  admit  that  they  were 
carried  along  as  precious  heirlooms  by  the  earliest  emigrants 
from  Asia  to  Europe,  by  the  same  people  who  carried  the  tools 
of  their  mind,  that  is  the  words  of  their  language,  from  their 
original  homes  to  the  shores  of  the  Mediterranean,  to  Iceland, 
to  Ireland,  and  in  the  end  to  America. 
12 


lyS  Auld  Lang  Syne 

crude  notion  which  intelligent  men  have  of  the  migration 
of  tribes.  I  think  most  men's  conception  of  distance  is 
very  much  a  creature  of  maps — which  make  Crim  Tartary 
and  England  not  more  than  a  foot  apart,  so  that  the  feat  of 
the  old  rhyme — "  to  dance  out  of  Ireland  into  France," 
looks  easy.  They  seem  to  think  that  the  shifting  of  hab- 
itation was  accomiJlished  like  a  modern  journey  by  rail,  and 
that  the  emigrants  wouldn't  need  tools  by  the  way  or  would 
buy  them  at  the  nearest  shop  after  their  arrival.  There  is 
nothing  the  ignorant  and  the  poor  cling  to  so  tenaciously 
as  their  familiar  household  utensils.  Incredible  things 
are  brought  every  day  to  America  in  the  luggage  of  em- 
igrants— things  often  most  cumbrous  to  carry  and  utterly 
useless  in  the  new  home.  Families  that  went  from  our 
seaboard  to  the  West  a  century  ago,  through  an  almost 
impenetrable  wilderness,  carried  with  them  all  their  do- 
mestic pots  and  pans — even  those,  I  should  be  willing  to 
wager,  that  needed  the  tinker.  I  remember  very  well  the 
starting  of  an  expedition  from  my  native  town  of  Cam- 
bridge in  1831,  for  Oregon,  under  the  lead  of  a  captain  of 
great  energy  and  resource.  They  started  in  waggous  in- 
geniously contrived  so  as  to  be  taken  to  pieces,  the  body 
forming  a  boat  for  crossing  rivers.  They  carried  every- 
thing they  .could  think  of  with  them,  and  got  safely  to  the 
other  side  of  the  continent,  as  hard  a  job,  I  fancy,  as  our 
Aryan  ancestors  had  to  do.  There  is  hardly  a  family  of 
English  descent  in  New  England  that  doesn't  cherish,  as 
an  heirloom,  something  brought  over  by  the  first  ancestors 
two  hundred  and  fifty  years  ago.  And  besides  the  motive 
of  utility  there  is  that  also  of  sentiment — particularly 
strong  in  the  case  of  an  old  tool. 

Faithfully  yours,  J.  R.  Lowelii. 


Literary  Recollections  179 

Lowell's  conversation  was  inexhaustible,  his  in- 
formation astonishing.  Pleasant  as  he  was,  even 
as  an  antagonist,  he  would  occasionally  lose  his 
temper  and  use  very  emphatic  language.  I  was 
once  sitting  next  to  him  when  I  heard  him  stagger 
his  neighbour,  a  young  lady,  by  bursting  out  with  : 
"  But,  madam,  I  do  not  accept  youi'  major  pre- 
miss !  " 

Poor  thing,  she  evidently  was  not  accustomed 
to  such  language,  and  not  acquainted  with  that 
terrible  term.  She  collapsed,  evidently  quite  at 
a  loss  as  to  what  gift  on  her  part  Mr.  Lowell 
declined  to  accept. 

Sometimes  even  the  most  harmless  remark  about 
America  would  call  forth  very  sharp  replies  from 
him.  Everybody  knows  that  the  salaries  paid  by 
America  to  her  diplomatic  staff  are  insufficient,  and 
no  one  knew  it  better  than  he  himself.  But  when 
the  remark  was  made  in  his  presence  that  the 
United  States  treated  their  diplomatic  representa- 
tives stingily,  he  fired  up,  and  discoursed  most 
eloquently  on  the  advantages  of  high  thoughts  and 
humble  living.  His  cleverness  and  readiness  in 
writing  occasional  verses  have  become  proverbial, 
and  I  am  glad  to  be  able  to  add  two  more  to  the 
many  jeux  d'esprit  of  this  brilliaut  and  amiable 
guest. 


i8o  Auld  Lang  Syne 

Had  I  all  tongues  Max  Miiller  knows, 

I  could  not  with  them  altogether 
Tell  half  the  debt  a  stranger  owes 

Who  Oxford  sees  in  pleasant  weather. 

The  halls,  the  gardens,  and  the  quads, 
There's  nought  can  match  them  on  this  planet, 

Smiled  on  by  all  the  partial  gods 
Since  Alfred  (if  'twas  he)  began  it ; 

But  more  than  all  the  welcomes  warm, 
Thrown  thick  as  lavish  hands  could  toss  'em. 

Why,  they'd  have  wooed  in  winter-storm 
One's  very  umbrella-stick  to  blossom  1 

Bring  me  a  cup  of  All  Souls'  ale. 
Better  than  e'er  was  bought  with  siller, 

To  drink  (Oh,  may  the  vow  prevail) 
The  health  of  Max  *  and  Mrs.  Muller ! 

Abundant  as  was  his  wit  in  the  true  sense  of 
that  word,  his  kindness  was  equally  so.  After  he 
had  written  the  above  verses  for  my  wife,  my  young 
daughter  Beatrice  (now  Mrs.  Colyer  Fergusson) 
asked  him,  as  young  ladies  are  wont  to  do,  for  a 
few  lines  for  herself.  He  at  once  resumed  his  pen 
and  wrote : — 

O'er  the  wet  sands  an  insect  crept 
Ages  ere  man  on  earth  was  known — 

*("  Professor  "  I  would  fain  have  said, 

But  the  pinched  line  would  not  admit  it, 
And  where  the  nail  submits  its  head, 
There  must  the  hasty  hammer  hit  it !) 


Literary  Recollections  i8l 

And  patient  Time,  while  Nature  slept, 
The  slender  tracing  turned  to  stone. 

'Twas  the  first  autograph  :  and  ours  ? 
Prithee,  how  much  of  prose  or  song, 
In  league  with  the  Creative  powers, 
Shall  'scape  Oblivion's  broom  so  long  ? 

In  great  haste, 

Faithfully  yours, 

J.  R.  Lowell. 
Slfth  June,  1886. 

I  lost  the  pleasure  of  shaking  hands  with  Long, 
fellow  duiing  his  stay  in  England.  Though  I  have 
been  more  of  a  fixture  at  Oxford  than  most  pro- 
fessors, I  was  away  during  the  vacation  when  he 
X^aid  his  visit  to  our  University,  and  thus  lost  see- 
ing a  poet  to  whom  I  felt  strongly  attracted,  not 
only  by  the  general  spirit  of  his  poetry,  which  was 
steeped  in  German  thought,  but  as  the  translator 
of  several  of  my  father's  poems. 

I  was  more  fortunate  with  Dr.  Wendell  Holmes. 
His  arrival  in  England  had  been  proclaimed  be- 
forehand, and  one  naturally  remained  at  home  in 
order  to  be  allowed  to  receive  him.  His  hundred 
days  in  England  were  one  uninterrupted  trium- 
phal progress.  When  he  arrived  at  Liverpool  he 
found  about  three  hundred  invitations  Avaiting  for 
him.   Though  he  was  accompanied  by  a  most  active 


i82  Auld  Lang  Syne 

and  efficient  daughter,  he  had  at  once  to  engage  a 
secretary  to  answer  this  deluge  of  letters.  And 
though  he  was  past  eighty,  he  never  spared  him- 
self, and  was  always  ready  to  see  and  to  be  seen. 
He  was  not  only  an  old,  but  a  ripe  and  mellow 
man. 

There  was  no  subject  on  which  one  could  touch 
which  was  not  familiar  to  the  Autocrat  of  the  Break- 
fast Table.  His  thoughts  and  his  words  were 
ready,  and  one  felt  that  it  was  not  for  the  first 
time  that  the  subject  had  been  carefully  thought 
out  and  talked  out  by  him.  That  he  should  have 
been  able  to  stand  all  the  fatigue  of  his  journey 
and  the  constant  claims  on  his  ready  wit  seemed  to 
me  marvellous.  I  had  the  pleasure  of  showing 
him  the  old  buildings  of  Oxford.  He  seemed  to 
know  them  all,  and  had  something  to  ask  and  to 
say  about  every  one. 

When  we  came  to  Magdalen  College,  he  wanted 
to  see  and  to  measure  the  elms.  He  was  very 
proud  of  some  elms  in  America,  and  lie  had  actu- 
ally brought  some  string  with  which  he  bail  meas- 
ured the  largest  tree  he  knew  in  his  own  country. 
He  proceeded  to  measure  one  of  our  finest  elms  in 
Magdalen  College,  and  when  he  found  that  it  was 
larger  than  his  American  giant,  ho  stood  before  it 
admii-ing  it,  without  a  single  word  of  envy  or  dis- 
appointment. 


Literary  Recollections  183 

I  had,  however,  a  great  fright  while  he  was  stay- 
ing at  our  house.  He  had  evidently  done  too 
much,  and  after  our  first  dinner  party  he  had 
feverish  shivering  fits,  and  the  doctor  whom  I  sent 
for  declared  at  once  that  he  must  keep  perfectly 
quiet  in  bed,  and  attend  no  more  parties  of  any 
kind.  This  was  a  great  disappointment  to  myself 
and  to  many  of  my  friends.  But  at  his  time  of 
life  the  doctor's  warning  could  not  be  disregarded, 
and  I  had,  at  all  events,  the  satisfaction  of  sending 
him  off  to  Cambridge  safe  and  sound.  I  had  him 
several  days  quite  to  myself,  and  there  were  few 
subjects  which  we  did  not  discuss.  We  mostly 
agreed,  but  even  where  we  did  not,  it  was  a  real 
pleasure  to  differ  from  him.  We  discussed  the 
greatest  and  the  smallest  questions,  and  on  every 
one  he  had  some  wise  and  telling  remarks  to  pour 
out.  I  remember  one  long  conversation  while  we 
were  sitting  in  an  old  wainscoted  room  at  All 
Souls',  ornamented  with  the  arms  of  former  fel- 
lows. It  had  been  at  first  the  library  of  the  col- 
lege, then  one  of  the  fellows'  rooms,  and  lastly  a 
lecture- room.  We  were  deep  in  the  old  question  of 
the  true  relation  between  the  Divine  and  the  Human 
in  man,  and  here  again,  as  on  all  other  questions, 
everything  seemed  to  be  clear  and  evident  to  his 
mind.  Perhaps  I  ought  not  to  repeat  what  he  said 
to  me  when  we  parted:  "I  have  had  much  talk 


184  Auld  Lang  Syne 

witli  people  in  Eugland ;  with  you  I  have  had  a 
real  conversation."  "We  understood  each  other, 
and  wondered  how  it  was  that  men  so  often  mis- 
understood one  another.  I  told  him  that  it  was 
the  badness  of  our  language,  he  thought  it  was  the 
badness  of  our  tempers.  Perhaps  we  were  both 
right.  With  him  again  good-bye  was  good-bye  for 
life,  and  at  such  moments  one  wonders  indeed  how 
kindred  souls  became  separated,  and  one  feels 
startled  and  repelled  at  the  thought  that,  such  as 
they  were  on  earth,  they  can  never  meet  again. 
And  yet  there  is  continuity  in  the  world,  there  is 
no  flaw,  no  break  anywhere,  and  what  has  been 
will  surely  be  again,  though  how  it  will  be  we  can- 
not know,  and  if  only  we  trust  in  the  Wisdom  that 
pervades  and  overshadows  the  whole  Universe,  we 
need  not  know. 

Were  I  to  write  down  my  more  or  less  casual 
meetings  with  men  of  literary  eminence,  I  should 
have  much  more  to  say,  much  that  was  of  deep  in- 
terest and  value  to  myself,  but  would  hardly  be  of 
interest  to  others.  I  felt  greatly  flattered,  for  in- 
stance, when  years  ago  Macaulay  invited  me  to 
see  him  at  the  Albany,  and  to  discuss  with  him  the 
new  regulations  for  the  Indian  Civil  Service.  This 
must  have  been  in  about  1854.  I  was  quite  a 
young  and  unknown  man  at  the  time,  but  I  had 
already  made  his  acquaintance  at  Bunsen's  house, 


Literary  Recollections  185 

where  he  had  been  asked  to  meet  Herr  von  Kado- 
witz,  for  a  short  time  Prime  Minister  in  Prussia, 
and  the  most  famous  talker  in  Germany.  It  was 
indeed  a  tournament  to  watch,  but  as  it  was  in 
English,  which  Eadowitz  spoke  well,  yet  not  well 
enough  for  such  a  contest,  Macaulay  carried  the 
day,  though  Radowitz  excelled  in  repartee,  in 
anecdotes,  and  in  a  certain  elegance  more  telling 
in  French  than  in  English. 

I  went  to  call  on  Macaulay  in  London,  well  pro- 
vided as  I  thought  with  facts  and  arguments  in 
support  of  the  necessity  of  Oriental  studies,  which 
I  knew  he  had  always  discouraged,  in  the  prepara- 
tion and  examination  of  candidates  for  the  Indian 
Civil  Service.  He  began  by  telling  me  that  he 
knew  nothing  of  Indian  languages  and  literature, 
and  that  he  wanted  to  know  all  I  had  to  say  on  the 
real  advantages  to  be  derived  by  young  civilians 
from  a  study  of  Sanskrit.  I  had  already  published 
several  letters  in  The  Times  on  the  subject,  and  had 
carried  on  a  long  controversy  with  Sir  Charles 
Trevelyan,  afterwards  published  in  a  pamphlet,  en- 
titled "  Correspondence  relating  to  the  Establish- 
ment of  an  Oriental  CoUege  in  London." 

Macaulay,  after  sitting  down,  asked  me  a  number 
of  questions,  but  before  I  had  time  to  answer  any 
one  of  them,  he  began  to  relate  his  own  experi- 
ences in  India,  dilating  on  the  difference  between  a 


l86  Auld  Lang  Syne 

scholar  and  a  man  of  business,  giving  a  full  ac- 
count of  his  controversy,  while  in  India,  \Ndth  men 
like  Professor  Wilson  and  others,  who  maintained 
that  English  would  never  become  the  language  of 
India,  expressing  his  own  strong  conviction  to  the 
contrary,  and  relating  a  number  of  anecdotes,  show- 
ing that  the  natives  learnt  English  far  more  easily 
than  the  English  could  ever  learn  Hindustani  or 
Sanskrit.  Then  he  branched  oiT  into  some  dispar- 
aging remarks  about  Sanskrit  literature,  particu- 
larly about  their  legal  literature,  entering  minutely 
into  the  question  of  what  authority  could  be  as- 
signed to  the  Laws  of  Manu,  and  of  what  possible 
use  they  could  be  in  determining  lawsuits  between 
natives,  ending  up  with  the  usual  diatribes  about 
the  untruthfulness  of  the  natives  of  India,  and  their 
untrustworthiness  as  witnesses  in  a  court  of  law. 

This  went  on  for  nearly  an  hour  and  was  very 
pleasant  to  listen  to,  but  most  disappointing  to  a 
young  man  who  had  come  well  primed  with  facts 
to  meet  all  these  arguments,  and  who  tried  in  vain 
to  find  a  chance  to  put  in  a  single  word.  At  the 
end  of  this  so-called  conversation  Macaulay  thanked 
me  for  the  useful  information  I  had  given  him,  and 
I  went  back  to  Oxford  a  sadder  and  I  hope  a  wiser 
man.  What  I  had  chiefly  wished  to  impress  on 
him  was  that  Haileybury  should  not  be  suppressed, 
but  should  be  improved,  should  not  be  ended,  but 


Literary  Recollections  187 

mended.  But  it  was  easier  and  more  popular  to 
suppress  it,  and  suppressed  it  was,  so  that  in  Eng- 
land, which  has  the  largest  Oriental  Empire  in  the 
world,  there  is  now  not  a  single  school  or  seminary 
for  the  teaching  of  Oriental  languages,  whereas 
France,  Italy,  Prussia,  Austria  and  Eussia  have  all 
found  it  expedient  to  have  such  establishments  and 
to  support  them  by  liberal  grants.  Everybody 
now  begins  to  see  that  these  governments  are  reap- 
ing their  rewards,  but  in  England  the  old  argument 
remains  the  same :  "  We  can  always  find  interpret- 
ers if  we  pay  them  well,  and  if  we  only  speak  loud 
enough  the  natives  never  fail  to  understand  what 
we  mean." 

This  is  no  doubt  much  the  same  as  what  Mr. 
Layard  meant  when  he  explained  to  me  how  he 
managed  to  keep  his  diggers  in  order :  "  I  speak 
English  to  them ;  if  they  do  not  understand  I 
shout  at  them,"  he  said ;  "  if  they  won't  obey,  I 
knock  them  down ;  and  if  they  show  fight,  I  shoot 
them  down."  No  doubt  this  was  an  exaggeration, 
but  it  certainly  does  not  prove  the  uselessness  of  a 
thorough  knowledge  of  Oriental  languages  for  those 
who  are  sent  to  the  East  to  govern  millions,  and 
not  to  shout  at  them,  or  to  knock  them  down. 

Another  true  friend  of  mine  was  Arthur  Helps, 
the  author  of  "  Friends  in  Council,"  and  for  a  long 
time  clerk  to  the  Privy  Coimcil.     He  often  paid 


i88  Auld  Lang  Syne 

us  a  visit  on  his  way  to  or  from  Blenheim,  where  he 
used  to  stay  with  the  then  Duke  of  Marlborough. 
He  had  a  very  high  opinion  of  the  Duke's  ability 
as  President  of  the  Council,  and  considered  his 
personal  influence  most  important.  "  At  the  time 
of  a  change  of  Ministry,  you  should  see  the  mem- 
bers of  the  Cabinet,"  he  said.  "  People  imagine 
they  are  miserable  and  disheartened.  The  fact  is 
they  are  like  a  pack  of  schoolboys  going  home  for 
their  holidays,  and  scrambling  out  of  the  Council 
Chamber  as  fast  as  ever  they  can." 

Once  when  he  came  to  stay  with  us  on  his  re- 
turn from  Blenheim,  he  told  me  how  the  Duke  had 
left  the  day  before  for  London,  and  that  on  that 
very  day  the  emu  had  laid  an  egg.  The  Duke  had 
taken  the  greatest  interest  in  his  emus  and  had 
long  looked  forward  to  this  event.  A  telegram 
was  sent  to  the  Duke,  which,  when  shown  to  Mr. 
Helps,  ran  as  follows :  "  The  emu  has  laid  an  egg, 
and,  in  the  absence  of  your  Grace,  we  have  taken 
the  largest  goose  we  could  find  to  hatch  it." 

Helps  was  a  most  sensible  and  thoroughly  honest 
man ;  yet  the  last  years  of  his  life  were  dreadfully 
embittered  by  some  ill-advised  speculations  of  his 
which  brought  severe  losses  not  only  on  himself, 
but,  what  he  felt  far  more  keenly,  on  several  of  his 
friends  whom  he  had  induced  to  share  in  his  under- 
taking. 


Literary  Recollections  189 

I  missed  the  pleasure  of  knowing  Lord  Lytton. 
But  tliis  illustrious  writer,  Lord  Lytton,  or  in 
earlier  days,  Sir  Lytton  Bulwer  Lytton,  whose 
"Last  Days  of  Pompeii"  had  been  the  delight  of 
my  youth,  paid  me  a  great  and  quite  undeserved 
compliment  by  dedicating  to  me  one  of  his  last,  if 
not  his  very  last  work,  "  The  Coming  Eace,"  1871. 
The  book  was  published  anonymously,  and  as  it 
was  dedicated  to  me,  I  tried  very  hard  to  discover 
the  author  of  it,  but  in  vain.  It  was  only  after 
his  death  that  Lord  Lytton's  authorship  became 
known.  The  book  itself  could  hardly  be  called  a 
novel,  nor  was  there  anything  very  striking  or  sen- 
sational in  it.  Yet,  to  the  honour  of  the  English 
public  be  it  said,  it  was  discovered  at  once  that  it 
could  not  be  the  work  of  an  ordinary  writer.  It 
went  through  edition  after  edition,  and,  to  the 
great  delight  of  the  anonymous  author,  was  re- 
ceived with  universal  applause.  Vril  was  the 
name  given  by  the  author  to  the  fluid  which  in 
the  hands  of  a  Vrilya  was  raised  into  the  mighti- 
est agency  over  all  forms  of  matter,  animate  or  in- 
animate. It  destroyed  like  the  flash  of  lightning, 
yet,  differently  applied,  it  replenished  or  invigo- 
rated life.  With  it  a  way  could  be  rent  through 
the  most  solid  substances,  and  from  it  a  light  was 
extracted,  steadier,  softer,  and  healthier  than  from 
all  other  inflammable  materials.     The  fire  lodged  in 


iga  Auld  Lang  Syne 

the  hollow  of  a  reed,  and  directed  by  the  hand  of 
a  child,  could  shatter  the  strongest  fortress,  or 
cleave  its  burning  way  from  the  van  to  the  rear  of 
an  embattled  host.  All  this  reads  almost  like  a 
prophecy  of  the  electric  fluid  in  its  application  to 
engines  of  war  and  engines  of  peace,  but  its  name 
now  survives  chiefly  in  the  powerful  and  invigorat- 
ing fluid  extracted  from  beef,  and  advertised  on 
every  wall  as  Bo-vril — unless  I  am  quite  mistaken 
in  my  etymology. 

There  are  many  more  of  the  most  eminent  men 
in  England  from  whom  I  have  received  kindness, 
and  with  whom,  even  as  a  young  man,  I  had  some 
interesting  intercourse.  But  I  become  more  and 
more  doubtful  whether  I  can  trust  my  memory, 
and  whether,  in  writing  down  my  recollections,  I 
am  doing  my  friends  full  justice.  When  I  gave 
my  first  lectures  at  the  Eoyal  Institution  (in  18G1), 
I  came  into  frequent  contact  with  Faraday.  He 
was  then  what  I  thought  an  old  man,  and  though 
it  was  quite  beyond  my  power  to  estimate  his 
greatness,  he  was  one  of  those  men  who  at  once 
gave  one  the  impression  that  they  are  really  great. 
There  was  dignity  and  composure  in  his  conver- 
sation, and  at  the  same  time  a  kindly  welcome  in 
his  dark  bright  eyes  which  made  one  feel  at  home 
with  him  from  the  very  first  meeting.  Though 
the  subject  I  had  to  lecture  on  was  quite  new  to 


Literary  Recollections  191 

him,  he  took  the  liveliest  interest  in  my  lectures. 
I  told  him  how  disappointed  his  assistant  had 
Tjeen — I  believe  his  name  was  Anderson  or  Kobert- 
son — when  he  offered  me  his  services  for  my  lect- 
ures, and  I  had  to  tell  him  that  I  wanted  nothing, 
no  gas,  no  light,  no  magnets,  that  there  would  be 
no  experiments,  not  even  diagrams  to  pull  up  and 
down.  "O  yes,"  said  Faraday,  "I  know  how  he 
tells  his  friends  that  he  does  all  the  hard  work  at 
my  lectures,  all  the  experiments,  but  that  he  lets 
me  do  the  talking."  He  seemed  much  amused 
when  I  told  him  that  I  had  had  just  the  same  ex- 
perience, and  that  one  of  my  compositors  was  fully 
convinced  that  he  was  really  responsible  for  my 
books,  and  told  his  fellow-compositors  that  I  could 
not  have  brought  out  a  single  book  without  him. 

Faraday  sat  patiently  through  most,  if  not  all  of 
my  lectures,  and  it  was  a  pleasure  to  look  at  his 
face  beaming  with  intelligence.  When  I  lectured 
for  the  first  time  on  the  Science  of  Language,  I 
had  in  the  beginning  to  clear  the  ground  of  many 
prejudices,  and  amongst  the  rest,  to  dispose  of 
what  was  then  almost  an  article  of  faith — namely, 
that  all  the  languages  of  the  world  were  derived 
from  Hebrew.  I  gave  a  whole  lecture  to  this  ques- 
tion, and  when  it  -war.  over,  an  imposing  old  lady 
came  up  to  shake  hands  with  me  and  to  thank  me 
for  the  beautiful  lectui-e  I  had  delivered.     "  How 


192  Auld  Lang  Syne 

deligbtful  it  is  to  know,"  slie  continued,  "that 
Adam  and  Eve  spoke  Hebrew  in  Paradise,  and 
that  all  the  other  languages  of  the  world,  English 
not  excepted,  have  come  out  of  Hebrew  and  out  of 
Paradise."  I  really  felt  very  much  humiliated, 
and  when  Faraday  came  up  I  told  him  what  had 
happened.  "  Oh,  you  must  not  be  discouraged," 
he  said,  "  I  hardly  ever  lecture  on  chemistry  with- 
out an  old  dowager  coming  up  to  me  with  an  in- 
credulous smile  and  saying  :  '  Now,  Mr.  Faraday, 
you  don't  really  mean  to  say  that  the  water  I 
drink  is  nothing  but  what  you  call  oxygen  and 
hydrogen  ?  '  Go  on,"  he  said,  "  something  will  al- 
ways stick." 

I  certainly  had  splendid  audiences  ;  all  the  best 
men  of  the  town  were  there.  But  brilliant  as  my 
audiences  were  —  they  included  A.  P.  Stanley, 
Fredk.  Maurice,  Dean  Milman,  Bishop  Thirl  wall, 
Mill,  Lady  Stanley,  even  royalty  honoured  me  sev- 
eral times — the  old  habitues  of  the  Royal  Institu- 
tion were  not  easy  to  please.  The  front  row  was 
generally  occupied  by  old  men  with  hearing-trum- 
pets, old  Indians,  old  generals,  old  clergymen,  etc. 
A  number  of  ladies  came  in  with  their  newspaper 
and  unfolded  it  before  the  lecture  began,  and 
seemed  to  read  it  with  their  eyes  while  their  ears 
were  supposed  to  follow  my  arguments.  One's 
self-conceit  is  sometimes  very  much  tried.     After 


Literary  Recollections  193 

one  of  my  lectures  I  saw  one  of  the  old  East  Ind- 
ians led  out  by  liis  son  or  nephew,  who  shouted 
in  a  loud  voice  into  his  father's  ear,  "  That  was  a 
splendid  lecture,  was  it  not  ?  "  "  Yes,"  said  the 
old  man  in  a  still  louder  voice,  "  very  interesting 
— very;  didn't  understand  a  single  word  of  it." 
Such  is  reputation.  On  another  occasion  the  same 
deaf  and  loud-voiced  gentleman  was  heard  to  tell 
his  neighbour  who  I  was  and  what  I  had  done. 
"  Yes,"  he  shouted,  "  I  know  him  ;  he  is  a  clever 
young  man.  And  we  have  appointed  him  to  do 
some  work  for  us,  to  publish  the  old  Bible  of 
India.  We  have  also  made  him  our  examiner  for 
the  Civil  Service  of  India.  A  clever  young  man,  I 
assure  you." 

That  is  how  I  rose  in  the  estimation  of  the  Lon- 
don world,  and  how  Albemarle  Street  became 
crowded  with  fashionable  carriages,  and  people 
could  hardly  find  places  in  order  to  hear  all  about 
Aryan  roots  and  our  Aryan  ancestors,  and  our 
common  Aryan  home  somewhere  in  Asia. 

It  was  in  the  same  Royal  Institution  that  I  first 
raised  my  voice  against  the  thoughtless  extrava- 
gances of  the  so-called  Darwinian  School,  and  this 
at  a  time  when  it  required  more  courage  to  express 
a  doubt  on  any  Darwinian  theories  than  to  doubt 
the  descent  of  all  languages  from  Hebrew.     As  to 

Darwin  himself,  I  had  expressed  my  admiration  of 
13 


194  Auld  Lang  Syne 

him  in  my  very  first  course  of  lectures,  and  I  had 
more  particularly  tried  to  show  how  the  idea  of 
evolution,  or  development,  or  growth,  or  whatever 
name  we  like  to  use  instead  of  the  name  of  history, 
had  at  all  times  been  the  guiding  principle  in  the 
researches  of  the  students  of  the  "  Science  of  Lan- 
guages." Our  object  had  always  been  to  discover 
how  languages  came  to  be  what  they  are,  to  study 
the  origin  and  growth,  or  more  truly  the  history  of 
language.  If  we  spoke  of  the  development  or  evo- 
lution of  language  {Eniioickelung)  it  was  simply  in 
order  to  avoid  the  constant  use  of  the  same  word. 
We  comparative  philologists  had,  in  fact,  been 
talking  evolution  for  more  than  forty  years,  as 
M.  Jourdain  had  been  talking  prose  all  his  life, 
without  being  aware  of  it  {sans  que  fen  susse 
rien).  But  we  never  went  into  raptures  about 
that  blessed  word  "evolution,"  or  about  the 
passage  from  the  homogeneous  to  the  heteroge- 
neous. 

What  I,  from  my  own  point  of  view,  valued 
particularly  in  Darwin's  philosophy  was  the  tech- 
nical term  of  Natural  Selection.  Logically  it  was 
not  quite  correct,  for,  say  what  you  like,  selection 
presupposes  a  selector.  Without  a  selector  there 
is  no  selection,  and  unless  we  speak  mythologically, 
we  cannot  speak  of  Nature  as  a  selector.  I  should 
have  preferred,   therefore,   Rational  Elimination^ 


Literary  Recollections  195 

looking  upon  Reason,  or  tlie  Good  of  Plato,  as  the 
power  that  works  for  good  or  for  fitness  in  all  that 
survives  or  is  not  crowded  out.  But  with  this  re- 
striction Natural  Selection  was  the  very  term  w^e 
wanted  to  signify  that  process  which  is  constantly 
going  on  in  language — "  excluding  caprice  as  w^cll 
as  necessity,  including  individual  exertion  as  well 
as  general  co-operation,  applicable  neither  to  the 
unconscious  building  of  bees  nor  to  the  conscious 
architecture  of  human  beings,  yet  combining  with- 
in itself  both  these  operations,  and  raising  them  to 
a  higher  conception."  *  Natural  selection  was  the 
very  term  we  wanted  for  a  true  insight  into  the  so- 
called  growth  of  language,  and  it  was  Darwin  who 
gave  it  us,  even  though  for  our  own  purposes  we 
had  to  define  it  more  strictly. 

I  gave  Darwin  full  credit  for  having  discovered 
and  popularised  this  new  "  category  of  thought," 
but  the  constant  hallelujahs  that  were  raised  over 
the  discovery  of  Evolution  showed  surely  an  ex- 
traordinai-y  ignorance  of  the  history  of  philosoph- 
ical thought  in  Europe.  Darwin  himself  was  the 
very  last  person  to  claim  evolution  as  a  discovery 
of  his  own ;  but  is  there  a  single  paper  that  has 
not  called  him  the  discoverer  of  Evolution?  He 
knew  too  well  how,  particularly  in  his  o^vn  special 
field  of  study,  the  controversy  whether  each  so- 

*  "  Lectures  on  the  Science  of  Language,"  voL  ii.,  p.  343. 


196  Auld  Lang  Syne 

called  genus  or  species  had  required  a  separate  act 
of  creation,  had  been  raging  for  centuries.  He  re- 
membered the  famous  controversy  in  1830  at  the 
French  Institute,  between  Cuvier  and  Geoffray 
Saint-Hilaire,  and  Goethe's  equally  famous  re- 
marks on  the  subject.  It  would  seem  as  if  Dar- 
win himself  had  originally  been  under  the  spell  of 
the  old  idea  that  every  species,  if  not  every  indi- 
vidual, required  a  special  act  of  creation,  and  he 
describes,  if  I  remember  rightly,  the  shock  it  gave 
him  when  he  saw  for  the  first  time  that  this  idea 
had  to  be  surrendered.  It  was  evidently  con- 
sidered to  be  the  orthodox  view  of  creation, 
though  I  do  not  know  why ;  nay,  it  seems  to  be 
so  still,  if  we  remember  how  the  present  Arch- 
bishop of  Canterbury  was  represented  as  unfit  to 
wear  a  mitre  because  he  believed  in  evolution ;  that 
is,  as  I  should  say,  in  his  senses.  I  myself,  on  the 
contrary,  was  given  to  understand  at  the  time  by 
my  unorthodox  friends  that  my  want  of  belief  in 
evolution  was  but  a  survival  of  my  orthodox  opin- 
ions. I  was  much  puzzled  before  I  could  under- 
stand why  I  was  looked  at  askance,  till  in  one  of 
the  reviews  I  was  told  in  so  many  words  that  if  I 
did  not  believe  in  evolution,  I  must  believe  in  the 
theory  of  special  creations,  or  in  nothing  at  all. 
Even  Tyndall,  dear  honest  Tyndall,  told  me  one 
day  at  the  Royal  Institution  that  it  was  no  use  my 


Literary  Recollections  197 

kicking  against  the  pricks,  and  I  then  had  an  op- 
portunity of  telling  him  my  mind.  "  When  some 
substance  is  brought  3^ou,"  I  said,  "  don't  you  first 
of  all  analyse  it  to  find  out  what  it  consists  of, 
before  you  use  it  for  any  further  experiments? 
"Well,  that  is  really  what  a  student  of  language 
does.  When  you  bring  him  a  word  like  evolution, 
the  first  thing  he  asks  for  is  an  analysis  or  defini- 
tion. That  may  often  seem  very  discourteous,  but 
it  cannot  be  otherwise  in  any  decent  laboratory 
of  chemistry  or  thought.  Now  if  evolution  is 
meant  for  an  action,  you  cannot  have  an  action 
without  an  actor,  whether  his  action  is  direct  or  in- 
direct. Of  course  you  will  say  that  we  all  know 
that,  that  it  is  mere  childish  logic ;  but,  if  so,  we 
should  not  imagine  that  we  can  neglect  this  child- 
ish logic  with  impunity,  that  we  can  have  a  success- 
ful experiment  without  first  wiping  our  crucibles 
clean.  If,  on  the  contrary,  evolution  is  to  be 
taken  in  the  sense  of  a  process  excluding  an  actor 
or  evolver,  this  should  be  clearly  stated,  and  in 
that  case  the  more  familiar  word  '  growth '  would 
have  been  far  preferable,  because  it  would  not 
have  raised  unfounded  expectations.  But  even 
growth  means  very  little  unless  it  is  authenticated 
by  history  step  by  step. 

"  If  then  you  tell  me  that  there  is  growth,  not 
only  from  the  sperm  to  men  like  you  and  me,  not 


ig8  Auld  Lang  Syne 

only  from  an  egg  to  a  caterpillar,  from  a  caterpillar 
to  a  chrysalis,  and  from  a  chrysalis  to  a  butterfly, 
but  likewise  from  inorganic  to  organised  matter, 
from  plants  to  animals,  from  reptiles  to  birds, 
from  apes  to  men,  I  have  not  a  word  to  say  against 
it.  I  know  you  to  be  an  honest  man,  and  if  you 
can  assure  me  that  there  are  historical  facts,  real, 
visible  facts,  to  support  this  transition  from  one 
species  to  another,  or  even  from  one  genus  to  an- 
other, I  trust  you.  It  would  be  simple  arrogance 
were  I  to  doubt  your  word,  within  your  own 
special  sphere  of  study.  You  have  seen  the  tran- 
sition or  connecting  links,  you  know  that  it  is  not 
only  possible,  but  real,  and  there  is  an  end  of  it. 
Only  allow  me  to  say  that  from  a  philosophical 
point  of  view  there  is  nothing  new  in  this  concept 
of  grov/th,  or,  as  you  call  it,  evolution.  You 
Avould  never  say  that  Lamarck  had  been  the  dis- 
coverer of  growth  in  nature,  neither  has  it  any 
definite  meaning  to  me  when  you  say  that  Darwin 
was  the  discoverer  of  evolution.  I  can  understand 
enough  of  Darwin's  *  Origin  of  Species  '  to  enable 
me  to  admire  his  power  of  observation  and  his 
true  genius  of  combination.  I  can  see  how  he  has 
reduced  the  number  of  unnecessary  species,  and 
of  unnecessary  acts  of  so-called  apeci:d  creation  ; 
and  that  possibly  he  has  traced  back  the  whole  of 
the  animal  and  vegetable  kingdoms  to  four  begin- 


Literary  Recollections  199 

nings,  and  in  tlie  end  to  one  Creator.  Darwin  did 
not  go  beyond  this,  he  required  four  beginnings 
and  one  Creator.  It  was  left  to  his  followers  to 
carry  out  his  principles,  as  they  thought,  by  elim- 
inating the  Creator,  and  reducing  the  four  begin- 
nings to  one.  If  you  think  that  all  this  rests  on 
well  ascertained  facts,  I  have  nothing  to  say  ex- 
cept to  express  my  surprise  that  some  men  of 
great  learning  and  undoubted  honesty  are  not  so 
positive  as  to  these  facts  as  you  are.  But  with  the 
exception  of  a  Creator,  that  is,  a  subjective  Au- 
thor of  the  universe,  all  this  is  really  outside  my 
special  province,  and  I  could  afford  to  be  silent. 
Only  when  Darwin  maintains  the  transition  from 
some  highly  developed  animal  into  a  human  be- 
ing, I  say,  Stop !  Here  the  student  of  language 
has  a  word  to  say,  and  I  say  that  language  is 
something  that,  even  in  its  most  rudimentary 
form,  puts  an  impassable  barrier  between  beast 
and  man." 

Soon  after,  when  I  had  been  asked  to  give  a 
new  course  of  lectures  at  the  Koyal  Institution,  I 
had  selected  this  very  point,  the  barrier  which 
language  forms  between  man  and  brute,  for  my 
subject,  and  as  Darwin's  "  Descent  of  Man  "  was 
then  occupying  the  thoughts  of  philosophers,  I 
promised  to  give  a  course  of  lectures  on  "  Dar- 
win's Philosophy  of  Language."     Entertaining,  as 


200  Auld  Lang  Syne 

I  did,  a  sincere  admiration  for  Darwin,  I  felt  that 
it  would  have  been  even  discourteous  to  attempt 
to  be  courteous  to  such  a  man  by  passing  over  in 
silence  what  he  had  said  on  language.  This  kind 
of  courtesy  is  most  offensive  to  a  true  man  of  sci- 
ence. Otherwise  nothing  would  have  been  easier 
than  to  find  antagonists  for  my  purpose,  begin- 
ning with  Epicurus  and  ending  with  Mr.  H. 
AVedgwood's  "Etymological  Dictionary  of  the 
English  Language  "  (second  edition,  1872).  It  so 
happened  that  the  author  of  that  dictionary  w^as  a 
friend  of  Darwin's,  and  had  easily  persuaded  him 
that  interjections  and  imitations  of  natural  sounds 
formed  the  material  elements  of  all  human  speech, 
and  that,  as  certain  animals  barked,  and  mocking 
birds  and  parrots  imitated  sounds  which  they 
heard,  there  seemed  to  be  no  reason  whatever  why 
animals  in  a  few  millions  of  years  should  not  have 
invented  a  language  of  their  own.  This  naturally 
fell  in  with  Darwin's  own  views  and  wishes,  and 
though  he  always  spoke  with  great  reserve  on  the 
subject  of  language,  yet  he  would  have  been  more 
than  humam  if  he  had  sui-rendered  his  conviction 
of  the  descent  of  man  from  some  kind  of  animal 
on  account  of  this,  as  his  friend  had  assui-ed  him, 
so  easily  removable  barrier  of  language.  Given  a 
sufficient  number  of  years,  ho  thought,  and  why 
should  not  bow-wow  and  pooh-pooh  have  evoR'ed 


Literary  Recollections  201 

into  "  I  bark  "  and  "  I  despise  "  ?  The  fact  that 
no  animal  had  ever  evolved  such  words  could  not 
be  denied,  but  it  could  be  ignored,  or  explained 
away  by  evidence  clearly  showing  that  animals 
communicated  with  each  other ;  as  if  to  communi- 
cate were  the  same  as  to  speak.  My  object  in  my 
lectures  (published  at  the  time  in  Longmans  3Iag- 
azine)  was  to  show  that  no  such  transition  from 
pooh-pooh  to  /  despise  is  possible  ;  nay,  that  even 
the  first  step,  the  formation  of  roots,  that  is,  of 
general  concepts  out  of  single  sounds,  that  is,  sin- 
gle percepts,  is  beyond  the  power  of  any  animal, 
except  the  human  animal.  Even  now  it  is  only 
the  human  baby  or  puppy  that  can  learn  to  imi- 
tate human  language,  and  what  is  the  mere  learn- 
ing of  a  language,  compared  with  the  creation  of 
language,  which  was  the  real  task  of  those  human 
animals  that  became  men  ?  In  all  the  arguments 
which  I  used  in  support  of  my  theory — a  theory 
no  longer  controverted,  I  believe,  by  any  compe- 
tent and  independent  scholar  and  thinker — I  never 
used  a  single  disrespectful  word  about  Mr.  Dar- 
win. But  for  all  that  I  was  supposed  to  have 
blasphemed,  again  not  by  Mr.  Darwin  himself,  but 
by  those  who  called  themselves  his  bulldogs.  I 
was  actually  suspected  of  having  written  that  no- 
torious article  in  The  Quarterly  Revieiv  which  gave 
su<?li  just  offence  to  DarAvin.     Darwin  himself  was 


202  Auld  Lang  Syne 

above  all  this,  and  I  have  his  letter  in  which  he 
writes,  5th  January,  1875  : — 

I  have  just  read  the  few  first  pages  of  your  article  in 
The  Contempoi'ary  Review,  and  I  hope  that  you  will  permit 
me  to  say  that  neither  I,  nor  my  son,  ever  supposed  that 
you  were  the  author  of  the  review  in  the  Quarterly.  You 
are  about  the  last  man  in  England  to  whom  I  should  have 
attributed  such  a  review.  I  know  it  was  written  by  Mr. 
M.,  and  the  utterly  false  and  base  statements  contained  in 
it  are  worthy  of  the  man. 

But  what  was  better  still,  Mr.  Darwin  gave  me 
an  opportunity  of  discussing  the  facts  and  argu- 
ments which  stood  between  him  and  me  in  a  per- 
sonal interview.  Sir  John  Lubbock  took  me  to 
see  the  old  philosopher  at  his  place,  Down,  Beck- 
enham,  Kent,  and  there  are  few  episodes  in  my 
life  which  I  value  more.  I  need  not  describe  the 
simplicity  of  his  house,  and  the  grandeur  of  the 
man  who  had  lived  and  worked  in  it  for  so  many 
years.  Darwin  gave  me  a  hearty  welcome,  showed 
me  his  garden  and  his  flowers,  and  then  took  me 
into  his  study,  and  standing  leaning  against  his 
desk  began  to  examine  me.  He  said  at  once  that 
personally  he  was  quite  ignorant  of  the  science  of 
language,  and  had  taken  his  facts  and  opinions 
chiefly  from  his  friend,  Mr.  Wedgwood.  I  had 
been  warned  that  Darwin  could  not  carry  on  a 


Literary  Recollections  203 

serious  discussion  for  more  than  about  ten  min- 
utes or  a  quarter  of  an  hour,  as  it  always  brought 
on  his  life-long  complaint  of  sickness.  I  therefore 
put  before  him  in  the  shortest  way  possible  the 
difficulties  which  prevented  me  from  accepting  the 
theory  of  animals  forming  a  language  out  of  inter- 
jections and  sounds  of  nature.  I  laid  stress  on  the 
fact  that  no  animal,  except  the  human  animal,  had 
ever  made  a  step  towards  generalisation  of  per- 
cepts, and  towards  roots,  the  real  elements  of  all 
languages,  as  signs  of  such  generalised  percepts, 
and  I  gave  him  a  few  illustrations  of  how  our 
words  for  one  to  ten,  for  father,  mother,  sun  and 
moon  had  really  and  historically  been  evolved. 
That  man  thus  formed  a  real  anomaly  in  the 
growth  of  the  animal  kingdom,  as  conceived  by 
him,  I  fully  admitted ;  but  it  was  impossible  for 
me  to  ignore  facts,  and  language  in  its  true  mean- 
ing has  alwaj'S  been  to  my  mind  a  fact  that  could 
not  be  wiped  away  by  argument,  as  little  as  the 
Himalayas  could  be  wiped  away  with  a  silk  hand- 
kerchief even  in  millions  of  years.  He  listened 
most  attentively  without  making  any  objections, 
but  before  he  shook  hands  and  left  me,  he  said  in 
the  kindest  way,  "  You  are  a  dangerous  man."  I 
ventured  to  reply,  "  There  can  be  no  danger  in  our 
search  for  truth,"  and  he  left  the  room. 

He  was  exactly  the  man  I  had  imagined,  mas- 


204  Auld  Lang  Syne 

sive  in  his  forehead,  kind  in  his  smile,  and  hardly 
bent  under  the  burden  of  his  knowledge  or  the 
burden  of  his  years.  I  must  give  one  more  of  his 
letters,  because  my  late  friend  Romanes,  who  saw 
it  in  my  album,  seems  to  have  entirely  misappre- 
hended its  meaning.  He  saw  in  it  a  proof  of  Mr. 
Darwin's  extraordinary  humility.  I  do  not  deny 
his  humility,  it  was  extraordinary,  and,  what  is 
more,  it  was  genuine.  All  great  men  know  how 
little  they  know  in  comparison  with  what  they  do 
not  know.  They  are  humble,  they  do  not  only 
wish  to  appear  so.  But  I  see  in  Darwin's  letter 
far  more  of  humour  than  of  humility.  I  see  him 
chuckling  while  he  wrote  it,  and  though  I  value  it 
as  a  treasure,  I  never  looked  upon  it  as  a  trophy. 

Down,  Beckenham,  Kent, 

15th  Oct.,  1875. 

My  Deab  Sib, 

I  am  greatly  obliged  to  you  for  so  kindly 

sending  me  your  essay,  which  I  am  sure  will  interest  me 

much.     With  respect  to  our  diflferences,  though  some  of 

your  remarks  have  been  rather  stinging,  they  have  all  been 

made  so  gracefully,  I  declare  that  I  am  like  the  man  in  the 

story  who  boasted  that  he  had  been  soundly  horsewhipped 

by  a  Duke. 

Pray  believe  me, 

Yours  very  sincerely, 

Chakles  Dabwin. 


RECOLLECTIONS   OF  ROYALTIES 


By  royal  I  do  not  mean  kings  and  emperors  only, 
or  queens  and  empresses.  I  should  have  very  lit- 
tle to  tell  of  them.  But  royal,  as  is  well  known,  has 
a  wider  meaning.  The  families  of  all  reigning 
sovereigns,  whether  grand  dukes,  dukes,  princes, 
landgraves,  electors,  etc.,  are  royalty,  nay  even  cer- 
tain mediatised  families,  families  that  have  ceased 
to  be  reigning,  and  which  are  very  numerous  on 
the  continent,  claim  the  same  status,  and  may 
therefore  intermarry  with  royal  princes  and  prin- 
cesses. Princes  and  princesses  may  also  marry 
persons  who  are  not  royalty,  but  in  that  case  the 
marriage  is  morganatic — a  perfectly  good  and  legal 
form  of  marriage  both  from  an  ecclesiastical  and 
civil  point  of  view,  only  that  the  children  of  such 
marriages,  though  perfectly  legitimate,  cannot  suc- 
ceed to  the  throne  :  in  many  cases  no  great  loss  to 
them.  It  has  been  my  good  fortune  to  see  a  good 
deal  of  royalty  during  the  whole  of  my  life.     I  say 

205 


2o6  Auld  Lang  Syne 

good  fortune  on  purpose,  for,  witli  all  tlie  draw- 
backs inherent  in  Court  life,  royal  persons  enjoy 
some  gi-eat  advantages.  Their  position  is  assm-ed 
and  well  defined.  It  requires  no  kind  of  self- 
assertion,  and  wherever  they  appear,  they  have  no 
equals,  no  rivals,  and  hardly  any  enviers.  They 
know  that  their  presence  always  gives  pleasure, 
and  that  every  kind  word  or  look  from  them  is 
highly  appreciated.  They  seldom  have  any  in- 
ducement to  try  to  appear  different  from  what  they 
are,  or  to  disguise  what  they  think  or  feel.  What 
is  the  use  of  being  a  bishop,  Stanley  used  to  say, 
except  that  you  can  speak  your  own  mind !  The 
same  applies  to  crowned  heads,  and  if  some  of 
them,  and  it  may  be  some  bishops  also,  do  not 
avail  themselves  of  this  privilege,  it  is  surely  their 
own  fault.  No  doubt,  if  a  bishop  wants  to  become 
an  archbishop,  he  has  to  think  twice  about  what 
he  may  and  what  he  may  not  say.  But  a  king  or 
a  prince  does  not  generally  want  to  become  any- 
thing else,  and  as  they  want  nothing  from  any- 
body, they  are  not  likely  to  scheme,  to  flatter,  or 
to  deceive.  Whatever  people  may  say  of  the  at- 
mosphere of  courts  and  the  insincerity  of  courtiers, 
the  sovereign  himself,  if  only  left  to  himself,  if 
only  seen  in  his  own  private  cabinet,  is  generally 
above  the  vitiated  atmosphere  that  pervades  his 
palace,  nor  does  he,  as  a  rule,  while  speaking  with 


Recollections  of  Royalties  207 

perfect  freedom  himself,  dislike  perfect  freedom  in 
others. 

Of  course  there  are  differences  among  royalty 
as  well  as  among  commonalty.  Some  sovereigns 
have  become  so  accustomed  to  the  daily  supply  of 
the  very  cheapest  flattery,  that  the  slightest  di- 
vergence from  the  tone  of  their  courtiers  is  apt 
to  startle  or  to  offend  them.  Still  most  human 
beings  like  fresh  air. 

And  have  we  not  known  persons  who  display 
their  mitres  and  shake  their  crosiers  before  our 
faces,  far  more  than  kings  their  crowns  and  their 
sceptres  ?  There  is  a  whole  class  of  people  in  or- 
dinary life  who  have  become  something,  and  who 
seem  always  to  be  thanking  God  that  they  are  not 
as  other  men  are.  They  have  ceased  to  be  what 
they  were,  quite  unaware  that  even  in  becoming 
something,  there  ought  always  to  be  or  to  remain 
something  that  becomes  or  has  become.  They 
seem  to  have  been  created  afresh  when  they  were 
created  peers,  temporal  or  spiritual. 

But  we  must  not  be  unfair  to  these  new  creations 
or  creatures.  I  have  known  bishops,  and  arch- 
bishops too,  in  England,  who,  to  their  friends,  al- 
ways remained  Thii'lwalls  or  Thomsons,  and  in  the 
second  place  only  .Bishops  of  St.  David's  or  Arch- 
bishops of  York.  My  friend  Arthur  Stanley  never 
became  a  dean.     He  was  always  Stanley ;  Dean  of 


2o8  Auld  Lang  Syne 

Westminster,  if  necessary.  If  lie  had  been  what 
he  ought  to  have  been,  Archbishop  of  Canterbury, 
he  would  never  have  ceased  to  be  A.  P.  Stanley, 
his  chuckle  would  always  have  been  just  the  same, 
and  if  his  admirers  had  presented  him  with  a  mitre 
and  crosier,  he  would  probably  have  put  the  mitre 
on  his  head  sideways,  and  said  to  his  friends  what 
another  bishop  is  reported  to  have  said  on  a  sim- 
ilar occasion  :  "  Thank  you,  my  friends,  but  a  new 
hat  and  an  alpaca  umbrella  would  have  been  far 
more  useful  than  a  mitre  and  a  crosier."  With  re- 
gard to  royal  personages,  they  have  the  gi'eat  ad- 
vantage that  they  are  to  their  business  born.  They 
have  not  become,  they  were  born  royal.  I  was 
much  struck  by  the  extraordinary  power  of  obser- 
vation of  a  French  friend  of  mine,  who,  when  in 
1855  the  Queen  and  the  Empress  Eugenie  en- 
tered the  Grand  Opera  at  Paris  together,  and  were 
received  with  immense  applause,  turned  to  his 
neighbour,  an  Englishman,  and  said:  "Look  at 
the  difference  between  your  Queen  and  our  Em- 
press." They  had  both  bowed  most  graciously, 
and  then  sat  down.  "Did  you  not  observe,"  he 
continued,  "  how  the  Empress  looked  round  to  see 
if  there  was  a  chair  for  her  before  she  sat  down. 
But  your  Queen,  a  born  Queen,  sat  down  without 
looking.  She  knew  a  chair  must  be  there,  as  sure- 
ly as  she  is  Queen  of  England." 


Recollections  of  Royalties  209 

There  must  be  sometliing  to  liedge  a  king. 
While  most  people  have  to  move  in  a  crowd,  and 
hold  their  own  even  in  a  mob — and  it  is  difficult  to 
move  with  ease  when  you  are  hustled  and  pushed 
— royal  persons  are  never  in  a  crowd,  and  have 
never  to  adopt  a  position  of  self-defence  or  seK- 
assertion.  Still  there  is  a  difference  between  royal 
persons  also.  Some  of  them  with  all  their  dignity 
manage  to  hide  their  crown  in  everyday  life ;  others 
seem  always  conscious  that  it  is  there,  and  that 
they  must  not  condescend  too  low,  lest  it  should 
tumble  from  their  head. 

My  first  acquaintance  with  royalty  was  at  Des- 
sau, my  native  town.  Much  has  been  written  to 
ridicule  the  small  German  princes  and  their  small 
Courts.  And  it  cannot  be  denied  that  the  eti- 
quette kept  up  by  the  courtiers,  and  the  nobility,  in 
some  of  the  small  capitals  of  Germany  is  ludicrous 
in  the  extreme.  But  there  is  in  the  sovereigns 
themselves  an  inherited  dignity,  a  sentiment  of 
noblesse  oblige,  which  demands  respect.  The  reign- 
ing Duke  of  Anhalt  -  Dessau  was  to  us  boys  a 
being  by  himself,  and  no  wonder.  Though  the 
Duchy  was  so  small  that  on  one  occasion  a  trouble- 
some political  agitator,  who  had  been  expelled  from 
the  Duchy,  threatened  to  throw  stones  and  break 
the  Duke's  windows  as  soon  as  he  had  crossed  the 
frontier,  to  us  children  Dessau  was  our  world. 
14 


210  Auld  Lang  Syne 

Wlieu  I  was  a  child,  the  town  of  Dessau,  the  cap- 
ital of  the  Duchy,  contained  not  more  than  10,000 
or  12,000  inhabitants,  but  the  Duke,  Leopold  Fried- 
rich  (1817-1871),  was  really  the  most  independent 
sovereign  in  Europe.  He  was  perfectly  irrespon- 
sible, a  constitution  did  not  exist,  and  was  never 
allowed  to  be  mentioned.  All  appointments  were 
made  by  the  Duke,  all  salaries  and  pensions  were 
paid  from  the  Ducal  chest,  whatever  existed  in  the 
whole  Duchy  belonged,  or  seemed  to  belong,  to 
him.  There  was  no  appeal  from  him,  at  least  not 
in  practice,  whatever  it  may  have  been  in  theory. 
If  more  money  was  wanted,  the  Dukes,  I  believe, 
had  only  to  issue  a  new  tax,  and  the  money  was 
forthcoming.  And  with  all  that  one  never,  or 
hardly  ever,  heard  of  any  act  of  injustice.  The 
Duke  was  rich,  nearly  the  whole  of  the  Duchy  be- 
longed to  him,  and  he  had  large  landed  property 
elsewhere  also.  Taxation  was  low,  and  during  years 
of  war  and  distress,  taxes  were  actually  remitted  by 
the  Dukes.  The  only  public  opinion  there  was, 
was  represented  by  the  Duke's  own  permanent 
civil  service,  and  certainly  in  it  tradition  was  so 
strong  that  even  the  Duke,  independent  as  he  was, 
would  have  hesitated  before  going  against  it. 

But  the  Duke  himself  was  a  splendid  example 
of  uprightness,  fairness,  and  justice.  He  belonged 
to  one  of  the  oldest  reigning  families  in  Europe. 


Recollections  of  Royalties  21 1 

The  Hohenzollern,  and  even  the  Holienstaufen, 
were  but  of  yesterday  compared  with  the  glorious 
ancestors  of  the  Ascanian  princes.  They  did  not 
actually  claim  descent  from  Ascanius,  the  son  of 
Aeneas,  nor  from  Askenas,  the  grandson  of  Japhet, 
though  some  crazy  genealogists  may  have  done 
so ;  but  there  is  no  flaw  in  their  pedigree  from  the 
present  Duke  to  Albrecht  the  Bear,  Markgrave 
of  Brandenburg  in  1134.  Some  people  would 
probably  say  that  he  belonged  to  a  toteniistic 
age.  The  Duke  whom  I  knew,  and  who  died  in 
1871,  was  the  eighteenth  successor  of  this  Al- 
brecht the  Bear,  and  though  his  possessions  had 
been  much  reduced  in  the  course  of  centuries,  he 
knew  what  was  due  from  him  to  his  name,  and  to 
the  blood  of  his  ancestors.  He  never  forgot  it. 
He  was  a  tall  and  very  handsome  man,  very  quiet, 
very  self-contained,  particularly  during  the  later 
part  of  his  life,  when  his  increasing  deafness  made 
any  free  intercourse  between  him  and  his  friends 
and  officials  extremely  difficult.  He  worked  as 
hard  as  any  of  his  ministers,  and  no  wonder,  con- 
sidering that  everj-thing,  whether  important  or 
not,  had  finally  to  be  decided  by  him.  As  he  had 
been  much  attached  to  m}^  father,  and  as  my 
grandfather  was  his  president  or  prime  minister, 
he  took  some  interest  in  me  when  I  was  a  boy  at 
school  in  Dessau,  and  I  can  remember  standing 


2 1 2  Auld  Lang  Syne 

before  him  and  looking  up  to  him  in  his  cabinet 
with  fear  and  trembhng,  although  nothing  could 
be  kinder  than  the  handsome  tall  man  with  his 
deep  voice  and  his  slowly  uttered  words  ;  he  seemed 
to  move  in  an  atmosphere  of  his  own,  far  removed 
from  the  life  of  his  subjects.  The  ducal  castle  at 
Dessau  was  a  grand  old  building,  a  quadrangle 
open  in  front,  with  turrets  that  held  the  staircases 
leading  up  to  the  reception  rooms.  Some  of  his 
ancestors  had  been  highly  cultivated  men,  who 
had  travelled  in  Italy,  France,  and  England,  and 
had  collected  treasures  of  art,  which  were  after- 
wards stored  up  in  the  old  Palace  (Schloss)  at 
Dessau,  and  in  several  beautiful  parks  in  the 
neighbourhood  that  had  been  laid  out  a  hundred 
years  ago  after  the  model  of  English  parks.  The 
orange  trees  (Orangerie)  in  those  parks  and  gar- 
dens were  magnificent,  and  I  do  not  remember 
having  seen  such  an  abundance  of  them  anywhere 
else ;  but  they  suddenly  began  to  wither  and  die, 
and  even  replanting  them  by  their  heads  and  let- 
ting the  roots  grow  as  new  branches  does  not 
seem  to  have  saved  them. 

The  Duke  and  his  highly  cultivated  Duchess 
were  the  little  gods  of  Dessau.  They  seemed  to 
live  on  their  own  Olympus.  Everything  depended 
on  them  ;  everything,  such  as  theatre,  concerts,  or 
any  public  amusements,  had  to  be  provided  out 


Recollections  of  Royalties  213 

of  their  private  purse.  No  wonder  that  the  peo- 
ple looked  up  to  them,  and  that  whatever  they 
did  was  considered  right,  whatever  they  said  was 
repeated  as  gospel. 

Scholars  are  just  now  writing  learned  essays  as 
to  whether  the  idea  of  the  apotheosis  of  Augustus 
came  to  the  Romans  from  Greece  or  from  Egypt, 
or  whether  it  may  be  a  survival  of  fetishism.  It 
may  have  had  a  much  more  homely  origin,  how- 
ever. To  the  common  people  in  the  villages 
round  Dessau,  I  feel  sure  that  the  Duke  was  little 
short  of  a  god,  provided  always  that  they  knew 
what  was  meant  by  a  god.  He  might  not  have 
created  the  world,  even  Divus  Augustus  was  not 
credited  with  that  tour  de  force;  but  there  was 
nothing  else,  I  believe,  that  the  peasants  would 
have  thought  beyond  the  power  of  their  Duke. 
To  us  children  also,  the  Duke,  the  Duchess,  and 
all  the  members  of  the  Ducal  family,  were  some- 
thing quite  different  from  the  rest  of  the  world, 
and  some  of  these  impressions  of  childhood  of- 
ten remain  for  life.  When  their  carnage  passed 
through  the  streets,  everybody  stood  still,  took 
off  his  hat,  and  remained  bareheaded  till  they  had 
passed.  There  was  nothing  servile  in  all  this, 
as  little  as  there  is  in  a  Frenchman  signing  him- 
self Voire  tres-obeissant  serviteur,  for  no  one  ever 
thought  at  that  time  that  it  could  be  otherwise. 


214  Auld  Lang  Syne 

Nor  am  I  at  all  certain  that  this  outward  respect 
for  a  sovereign  is  a  mistake,  for  in  honouring  their 
sovereign,  people  after  all  but  honour  themselves. 
Whether  he  is  supposed  to  be  a  sovereign  by  the 
grace  of  God,  or  by  hereditary  right,  or  by  the 
voice  of  the  people,  he  represents  the  country  and 
the  people ;  he  is  their  duke,  their  king,  their  em- 
peror, and  if  they  wish  to  see  him  honoured  by 
others,  they  must  not  fail  to  honour  him  them- 
selves. When  I  saw  the  other  day  a  king  passing 
through  the  streets  of  his  own  capital,  and  no  one 
touching  his  hat,  I  thought,  "What  a  low  opinion 
these  people  must  have  of  themselves."  Even  as 
boys  at  school  we  felt  a  pride  in  our  Duke,  and, 
though  we  knew  scraps  only  of  the  glorious  his- 
tory of  his  ancestors,  we  knew  how  they  had  borne 
the  brunt  of  the  battle  in  all  the  greatest  episodes 
of  the  history  of  Germany. 

Little  is  said  of  these  numerous  small  princi- 
palities in  the  history  of  Germany,  but  without 
them  German  history  would  often  be  quite  unin- 
telligible, and  Germany  would  never  have  had  so 
intense  a  vitality,  would  never  have  become  what 
it  is  now.  No  doubt  there  was  also  an  element  of 
danger  in  them,  particularly  during  the  first  half 
of  this  century,  when  as  members  of  the  German 
Confederation  they  could  band  together  and  sup- 
port either  Austria  or  Prussia  in  their  fatal  rivalry. 


Recollections  of  Royalties  215 

They  were  the  horses,  as  Bismarck  said,  har- 
nessed to  the  chariot  of  Germany,  some  before 
,  and  some  behind,  and  pulling  in  different  direc- 
tions, so  that  it  was  impossible  to  advance.  But 
that  danger  is  past,  thanks  chiefly  to  Bismarck's 
policy,  and  for  the  future  the  smaller  principalities 
that  have  escaped  from  his  grasp  will  form  the 
most  useful  centres  of  intellectual  life,  nor  are 
they  likely  now  to  be  absorbed  by  Prussia,  if  well 
advised.  There  was  a  time  during  the  Austro- 
Prussian  war  in  1866  when  everybody  expected 
that  Anhalt,  being  almost  an  enclave  of  Prussia, 
would  share  the  fate  of  Hanover,  Nassau,  and  the 
Electorate  of  Hessia.  The  reigning  Duke  had  the 
strongest  sympathies  for  Austria.  But  he  had  a 
clever  minister,  who  showed  him  that  there  were 
only  two  ways  open  to  him  under  the  circum- 
stances, either  to  abdicate  of  his  own  free  will,  and 
make  as  advantageous  an  arrangement  with  Prus- 
sia as  possible,  or  to  siij  yes  to  whatever  demand 
was  made  from  Berlin.  He  chose  the  latter  alter- 
native, and  it  is  reported  that  it  was  of  him  that 
Bismarck  said :  "  I  know  what  to  do  with  m^^  ene- 
mies, but  what  to  do  with  my  friends,  I  don't." 

I  cannot  resist  the  temptation  of  giving  here  a 
short  sketch  of  the  really  glorious  history  of  the 
duchy  and  the  Dukes  of  Anhalt,  such  as  it  was 
known  to  us  as  boys.     Nor  should  it  be  supposed 


2i6  Auld  Lang  Syne 

that  I  exaggerate  the  importance  of  my  native 
duchy.  I  doubt,  indeed,  whether  there  is  any 
reigning  house  now  that  can  produce  such  a 
splendid  record  as  Anhalt.  If  it  has  remained 
small  and  lost  much  of  its  former  political  in- 
fluence, that  is  due  chiefly  to  a  law  of  inheritance 
which  prevailed  in  the  ducal  family.  Instead  of 
making  the  eldest  son  the  ruler  of  the  whole 
duchy,  it  was  the  custom  to  divide  the  land  among 
all  the  princes.  Thus  instead  of  one  Duchy  of 
Anhalt  there  were  four  duchies.  An  halt-Dessau, 
Anhalt-Cothen,  Anhalt-Zerbst,  and  Anhalt-Bern- 
burg,  some  of  them  again  subdivided.  From  time 
to  time  the  duchies  were  reunited,  and  so  they  are 
at  present,  the  last  of  the  collateral  branches  hav- 
ing died  out  in  1863,  when  they  were  united  once 
more  into  one  duchy. 

If  we  go  slowly  back  into  the  past,  and  that 
seems  to  me  the  real  task  of  the  historian,  we 
shall  find  that  there  is  no  critical  epoch  in  the 
history  of  Germany,  and  of  the  history  of  the 
world,  where  we  do  not  meet  with  some  of  the 
princes  of  the  small  Duchy  of  Anhalt,  standing  in 
the  very  front  of  the  fight.  I  only  wonder  that 
no  one  has  yet  attempted  to  write  a  popular  his- 
tory of  the  four  principalities  of  Anhalt,  in  order 
to  show  the  share  which  they  took  in  the  historical 
development  of  Germany.     I  have  tried  to  refresh 


Recollections  of  Royalties  217 

my  memory  by  reading  a  carefully  written  manual, 
"  Anhalt's  Geschichte  in  Wort  und  Bild,"  by  Dr. 
Hermann  Lorenz,  1893,  but  instead  of  quoting  his 
opinion,  or  the  opinions  of  any  historians,  as  to 
the  personal  merits  and  the  historical  achievements 
of  the  princes  of  Anhalt,  whether  as  warriors  or  as 
rulers,  I  shall  try  to  quote,  wherever  it  is  possible, 
the  judgments  pronounced  on  them  by  some  of 
their  own  contemporaries,  whose  names  will  carry 
gi'eater  weight. 

The  beginning  of  the  nineteenth  century  was 
dominated  by  Napoleon's  invasion  and  almost 
annihilation  of  Germany.  Dessau  was  then  ruled 
by  Prince  Leopold  Friedrich  Franz  (1740-1806). 
He  had  done  an  immense  amount  to  raise  both 
the  material  and  the  intellectual  status  of  his 
people,  and  had  well  earned  the  name  he  is  still 
known  by,  of  "  Father  Franz."  Many  of  the 
princes  of  that  time  were  far  in  advance  of  the 
people,  and  they  met,  as  he  did,  with  considerable 
difficult}^  in  overcoming  the  resistance  of  those 
whom  they  wished  to  benefit  by  their  reforms. 
The  young  prince  of  Dessau  had  travelled  in  Hol- 
land, England,  and  Italy.  He  avoided  France, 
which  he  said  was  dangerous  to  young  princes, 
and  yet  he  M'as  enlightened  enough  to  erect  a 
monument  to  Kousseau  in  his  beautiful  park  at 
Worlitz.     He  loved  England.     "  In  England,"  he 


2i8  Auld  Lang  Syne 

used  to  say,  "  one  becomes  a  man."  Nor  did  lie 
travel  for  pleasure  only.  While  in  England,  lie 
studied  agriculture,  architecture,  gardening,  brew- 
ing, and  various  other  manufactures,  in  order  to 
introduce  as  many  improvements  as  possible 
among  his  own  people.  In  Italy  he  studied  art, 
both  ancient  and  modem,  under  Winckelmann, 
and  this  great  antiquarian  was  so  delighted  with 
the  young  prince  and  his  companion  that  he  spoke 
of  their  visit  as  the  appearance  of  two  young  Greek 
gods.  At  that  time  it  was  still  possible  to  buy 
old  classical  statues  and  old  Italian  pictures,  and 
the  young  prince  gladly  availed  himself  of  his  ojd- 
portunities  as  far  as  his  financial  resources  would 
allow,  and  brought  home  to  Dessau  many  valuable 
specimens  of  ancient  and  modern  art.  These  he 
arranged  in  his  various  palaces  and  museums,  all 
open  to  the  people,  and  in  the  beautiful  parks  and 
gardens  which  he  had  created  after  English  models 
in  the  neighbourhood  of  his  capital.  After  a  hun- 
dred 3^ears  some  of  these  parks,  particularly  that 
of  Worlitz,  can  vie  with  some  of  the  finest  parks  in 
England.  Like  the  neighbouring  duchy  of  Wei- 
mar, Dessau  soon  attracted  visitors  from  all  parts 
of  Germany.  Goethe  himself  and  his  enlightened 
patron,  the  Duke  Karl  August,  were  often  the 
guests  of  the  Duke  of  Dessau,  and  Goethe  has  in 
several  places  spoken  in  rapturous  terms  of  the 


Recollections  of  Royalties  219 

beauties  of  Worlifcz,  and  the  cliarm  of  the  Duke's 
society.  WieLind,  Lavater,  MatthisoD,  and  other 
celebrities  often  passed  happy  days  at  Dessau  as 
guests  of  the  Duke. 

But  after  Duke  Franz  had  spent  all  his  life  in 
embellishing  his  land  and  inspiring  his  subjects 
with  higher  and  nobler  ideals,  the  Napoleonic 
thunder-cloud,  which  had  long  threatened  Ger- 
many, burst  over  his  head,  and  threatened  to  de- 
stroy everything  that  he  had  planted.  After  the 
battle  of  Jena  in  1806  Prussia  and  the  whole  of 
Germany  were  at  the  mercy  of  the  great  French 
conqueror,  and  Napoleon,  with  his  army  of  100,- 
000  men,  who  had  to  be  lodged  and  fed  in  everj' 
town  of  Germany  through  which  they  passed,  ap. 
peared  at  Dessau  on  21st  October,  1806.  The  old 
Prince  had  to  receive  him  bareheaded  at  the  foot 
of  the  staircase  of  his  castle.  My  mother,  then  a 
child  of  six,  remembered  seeing  her  own  grand 
and  beautiful  prince  standing  erect  before  the 
small  and  pale  Corsicau.  The  Prince,  however,  in 
his  meeting  with  the  Emperor,  was  not  afraid  to 
wear  the  Prussian  order  of  the  Black  Eagle  on  his 
breast,  and  when  he  was  asked  by  Napoleon 
whether  he  too  had  sent  a  contingent  to  the  Prus- 
sian army,  he  said,  "No,  sir."  "Why  not?" 
asked  the  Emperor.  "  Because  I  have  not  been 
asked,"  was  the  answer.     "  But  if  you  had  been 


220  Auld  Lang  Syne 

asked  ?  "  continued  the  Emperor.  "  Then  I  should 
certainly  have  sent  my  soldiers,"  the  Prince  re- 
plied ;  and  he  added :  "  Your  Majesty  knows  the 
right  of  the  stronger."  This  was  a  not  very  pru- 
dent remark  to  make,  but  the  Emperor  seems  to 
have  liked  the  outspoken  old  man.  He  invited 
him  to  inspect  with  him  the  bridge  over  the  Elbe 
which  had  been  burnt  by  the  Prussians  to  cover 
their  retreat.  He  demanded  that  it  should  be  re- 
built at  once,  and  on  that  condition  he  promised  to 
grant  neutraHty  to  the  duchy.  Nay,  before  leav- 
ing Dessau  in  the  morning  he  went  so  far  as  to 
ask  his  host  whether  he  could  do  anything  for 
him.  "For  myself,"  the  Prince  replied,  "  I  want 
nothing.  I  only  ask  for  mercy  for  my  people,  for 
they  are  all  to  me  like  my  children." 

The  next  critical  period  in  the  history  of  Ger- 
many is  that  of  Frederick  the  Great,  marked  by 
the  Seven  Years'  War  (1756-1763)  and  the  estab- 
lishment of  Prussia  as  one  of  the  great  Powers 
of  Europe. 

Here  again  we  find  a  prince  of  Anhalt  as  one  of 
the  principal  actors.  The  instrument  with  which 
Frederick  the  Great  won  his  victories  was  his 
well-drilled  army,  and  the  drill-master  of  that 
army  had  been  Leopold,  Fiirst  zu  Anhalt,  the 
Field-Marshal  of  Frederick's  father.  At  the  head 
of  his  grenadiers  and  by  the  side  of  Prince  Eu- 


Recollections  of  Royalties  221 

gene,   Prince    Leopold   of    Dessau  Lad   won,   or 
helped  to  win,   the   great  battles   of  Hochstadt, 
Blindheim  (corrupted   to   Blenheim),  Turin,   and 
Malplaquet  in  the  War  of  the  Spanish  Succession, 
and  had  thus  helped  in  establishing  against  the 
overweening   ambition  of  Louis  XIV.  what  was 
then   called  the  political  equilibrium  of  Europe. 
The  Prussian   Field-Marshal   was  known   at   the 
time   all  over  Germany  as  the  "Alte  Dessauer," 
and   through    Carlyle's   "Life   of    Frederick  the 
Great"   his  memory  has  lately  been   revived  in 
England    also.      Having    completely  reorganised 
the  Prussian  army  and  having  led  it  ever  so  many 
times  to  brilliant  victories,  he  was  for  Prussia  in 
his   time   what   Bismarck   was  in  our  own.     But 
after  the  death  of  Frederick  I.  and  Frederick  Will- 
iam II.,  Frederick  II.,  or  the  Great,  disliked  the 
old  general's  tutelage   and   dismissed  him:  much 
as  Bismarck  has  been  dismissed  in  our  own  time. 
The  young  King  wrote  to  the  old  Field-Marshal 
quite  openly  :  "  I  shall  not  be  such  a  fool  as  to 
neglect  my  most    experienced   officers,   but  this 
campaign  (in  Silesia)  I  reserve  for  myself  lest  the 
world  should  think  that  the  Prussian  King  cannot 
go  to  war  without  his  tutor."     His  old  tutor  was 
very  angry,  but  he  did  not  rebel,  and  in  a  State 
like  Prussia,  Frederick  the  Great  was  probably  as 
right  as  the  present  Emperor  in  saying  "  Let  one 


2  22  Auld  Lang  Syne 

be  King."  However,  after  Frederick  had  once 
established  his  own  position  as  a  general,  he  re- 
called his  old  tutor,  and  in  the  second  Silesiun 
War  it  was  the  brave  warrior  who  stormed  the 
heights  of  Kesselsdorf  at  the  head  of  his  old 
grenadiers,  and  won  one  of  the  most  difficult  and 
most  decisive  victories  for  his  King.  The  King 
after  the  battle  took  off  his  hat  before  his  tutor 
and  embraced  him  in  the  sight  of  the  whole  ar- 
my. The  inscription  placed  on  the  Field-Mar- 
shal's monument  at  Berlin,  probably  composed  by 
the  King  himself,  is  simple  and  true :  "  He  led 
the  Prussian  auxiliary  forces  victoriously  to  the 
Ehine,  the  Danube,  and  the  Po  ;  he  took  Stral- 
sund  and  the  island  of  PiUgen.  The  battle  of  Kes- 
selsdorf crowned  his  military  career.  The  Prus- 
sian army  owes  him  its  strict  discipline  and  the 
improvement  of  its  infantry."  The  successors  of 
Frederick  the  Great  have  never  forgotten  what 
they  owe  to  the  *'  Alte  Dessauer,"  and  I  doubt  not 
they  may  be  counted  on  in  the  future  also  as  the 
stoutest  friends  and  supporters  of  the  illustrious 
house  of  Albrecht  the  Bear,  the  first  Markgrave  of 
Brandenburg. 

If  stronger  testimony  to  the  military  genius  of 
the  Old  Dessauer  were  wanted  from  the  mouth  of 
his  own  contemporaries,  it  might  easily  be  quoted 
from   the   despatches   of   Prince    Eugene.     That 


Recollections  of  Royalties  223 

great  general  freely  admits  that  the  Prince's  troops 
surpassed  his  own  in  courage  and  discipline ;  nay, 
he  adds,  "  the  Prince  of  Dessau  has  done  wonders 
in  the  battle  of  Turin."  The  Emperor  of  Austria 
endorsed  this  judgment,  and  added,  "  that  he  had 
earned  immortal  glory,"  and  he  conferred  on  him 
the  title  of  Serene  Highness. 

So  much  for  the  eighteenth  century.  If  now  we 
look  back  to  the  seventeenth,  the  century  of  the 
Thirty  Years'  War,  w^e  find  Anhalt  the  constant 
trysting-ground  of  the  two  parties,  the  Catholic 
and  the  Protestant  Powers,  and  we  see  the  princes 
of  Anhalt  again  and  again  at  the  head  of  the 
Northern  or  Protestant  armies.  The  Elbe  often 
divided  the  two,  and  the  bridge  over  the  river 
near  Dessau  was  contested  then  as  it  was  dming 
the  Napoleonic  wars.  Well  do  I  remember,  w^hen 
as  a  boy  I  went  to  the  Schanzenhaus,  a  coffee- 
house on  the  way  to  the  new  bridge  over  the  Elbe, 
how  it  was  explained  to  me  that  these  Schanzen 
or  fortifications  were  what  was  left  of  the  works 
erected  by  Wallenstein  :  just  as  I  learnt  at  a  later 
time  that  my  own  house  at  Oxford  called  Paries 
End,  was  so  called  not  because  it  stood  as  it  does 
now  at  the  end  of  the  Park,  but  because  what  is 
now  called  the  Park  was  originally  the  Parks,  i.e., 
the  parks  of  artillery  erected  by  Cromwell's  army 
against  the  walls  of  Oxford.     The  right  name  of 


224  Auld  Lang  Syne 

my  house  should  therefore  have  been  not  Park's 
End,  but  Parks'  End.  A  more  merciless  war  than 
the  Thirty  Tears'  War  was  seldom  waged;  vil- 
lages and  whole  towns  vanished  from  the  ground, 
and  many  tracts  of  cultivated  land,  particularly 
along  the  Elbe,  were  changed  into  deserts.  Yet 
during  all  that  time  the  Anhalt  princes  never 
wavered.  When  the  Elector  of  the  Palatinate, 
Frederick  II.,  had  been  proclaimed  King  in  Bo- 
hemia in  1G19,  his  commander-in-chief  was  Prince 
Christian  of  Anhalt.  When  after  years  of  slaugh- 
ter Gustavus  Adolphus  came  to  the  assistance  of 
the  Protestant  Powers  in  Germany  and  won  the 
decisive  battle  of  Liitzen,  one  of  Prince  Christian's 
sons.  Prince  Ernest,  fought  at  his  side  and  died 
of  his  wounds  soon  after  the  battle.  The  memory 
of  Gustavus  Adolphus  has  been  kept  alive  in 
Dessau  to  the  present  day.  He  has  become  the 
hero  of  popular  romance,  and  as  a  schoolboy  I 
heard  several  stories  told  by  the  common  people 
of  his  adventures  during  the  war.  There  stands  a 
large  red  brick  house  which  I  often  passed  on  my 
way  from  Dessau  to  Worlitz,  and  which  is  simply 
called  Gustavus  Adolphus.  The  story  goes  that 
the  Swedish  king  was  in  hiding  there  under  a 
bridge  while  the  enemy's  cavalry  passed  over  it. 

One  more  century  back  brings  us  to  the  time  of 
the  Keformation,  and  once  more  among  the  most 


Recollections  of  Royalties  225 

prominent  champions  of  tlie  Protestant  cause  we 
see  the  princes  of  Anlialt.  The  very  cradle  of  the 
Reformation,  Wittenberg,  was  not  far  from  Dessau, 
and  the  reigning  family  of  Anhalt  was  closely  con- 
nected by  marriage  with  the  Saxon  princes  of  the 
house  of  Wettin,  the  chief  protectors  of  the  reform- 
ing movement  in  Germany.  Prince  Wolfgang  of 
Anhalt  was  present  at  the  Diet  of  Worms,  in  1521, 
and  again  in  1529,  at  the  Diet  of  Speier.  He 
openly  declared  in  favour  of  ecclesiastical  reform, 
and  he  extended  his  patronage  to  Luther  when  he 
came  to  preach  at  Zerbst.  This  was  at  that  time 
a  most  dangerous  step  to  take,  but  the  young 
prince  was  not  to  be  frightened  by  Pope  or  Em- 
peror, and  at  the  Diet  of  Augsburg  he  was  again 
one  of  the  first  princes  to  sign  the  Augsburg  Con- 
fession. During  the  momentous  years  that  fol- 
lowed, the  Anhalt  princes  were  willing,  as  they  de- 
clared, to  risk  life  and  wealth,  land  and  throne, 
for  the  Gospel.  Nor  was  this  a  mere  phrase,  for 
Prince  Wolfgang,  when  he  found  himself  sur- 
rounded at  Bern  burg  by  the  Imperial  army,  chiefly 
Spanish,  had  in  good  earnest  to  fly  for  his  life  and 
remain  in  hiding  for  some  time.  When  he  was 
able  to  return  to  his  duchy,  he  devoted  ^.is  remain- 
ing years  to  repairing,  as  much  ar  possible,  the 
ravages  of  the  war,  and  he  then  retired  into  pri- 
vate life  of  his  own  free  will,  leaving  the  govem- 
15 


226  Auld  Lang  Syne 

ment  to  Ids  three  cousins,  and  ending  liis  days  as 
a  simple  citizen  in  the  small  town  of  Zerbst. 
Let  me  quote  once  more  the  judgment  passed  on 
him  by  the  most  eminent  of  his  own  contempo- 
raries. Luther  and  Philip  Melanchthon  have 
spoken  in  no  uncertain  tone  of  the  merits  of  the 
Auhalt  princes  duiiug  the  most  critical  period  of 
the  Reformation.  Of  Prince  Wolfgang  Melanch- 
thon said :  "  No  one  will  come  again,  equal  to  him 
in  authorit}''  among  princes,  in  love  towards 
churches  and  schools,  in  zeal  to  maintain  peace 
and  concord,  and  in  readiness  to  give  up  his  life 
for  his  faith,"  Of  Prince  George,  called  the  Gott- 
selige,  Luther  is  reported  to  have  declared :  "  He 
is  more  pious  than  I  am,  and  if  he  does  not  get 
into  heaven,  I  too  shall  certainly  have  to  remain 
outside."  Nay,  even  his  antagonist,  the  Emperor 
Charles  V.,  confessed  that  he  knew  no  other  per- 
son in  the  whole  of  his  empire  who  could  bo  com- 
pared in  piety  or  ability  to  Prince  George  of  An- 
halt.  Who  knows  of  him  now  outside  the  limits 
of  the  Duch}^  of  Dessau  ?  but  it  is  all  the  more  the 
duty  of  his  descendants  to  keep  his  memory  fresh 
as  one  of  that  small  band  of  men  who  have  done 
their  duty. 

So  much  for  the  princes  of  the  house  of  Anhalt 
during  the  period  of  the  Reformation.  No  other 
reigning  family  could  produce  a  brighter  escutcheon 


Recollections  of  Royalties  227 

during  the  troubles  of  the  sixteenth  centm-y,  and  we 
saw  how  that  escutcheon  was  preserved  bright  and 
brilliant  during  the  centuries  that  followed,  the 
seventeenth,  eighteenth,  and  nineteenth.  If  the  title 
of  Grand  Duke  does  not  depend  on  the  number  of 
square  miles,  surely  no  family  has  deserved  that 
title  so  well  as  the  ducal  family  of  Anhalt, 

Beyond  the  sixteenth  century,  the  history  of  Ger- 
many tells  us  little  of  the  private  character  of  the 
Anhalt  princes,  but  we  may  look  forward  to  new 
information  which  the  Ducal  Archives  will  yield  if 
examined,  as  they  have  been  of  late  by  competent 
historians.  Much  useful  work  has  been  done  during 
the  last  twenty-two  years  by  a  historical  society  es- 
tablished at  Dessau.  A  Codex  Anhaltinus  has  been 
published  and  much  light  has  been  thrown  on 
transactions  in  which  some  princes  of  Anhalt  had 
taken  a  prominent  part.  If  during  the  time  of  the 
Crusades  the  names  of  the  Ascanians  are  but  sel- 
dom mentioned,  there  was  a  good  reason  for  it. 
Bemhard  of  Clairvaux  himself,  wise  man  as  he  was 
with  all  his  fanaticism,  had  persuaded  them  to  turn 
their  arms  against  the  heathen  on  the  eastern  bor- 
ders of  Germany,  rather  than  against  the  heathen 
who  had  conquered  the  Holy  Land.  Slavonic  tribes, 
particularly  the  Wends  and  Sorbs,  who  were  still 
heathen,  were  constantly  threatening  the  eastern 
parts  of  the  German  Empire,  the  very  ramparts  of 


228  Auld  Lang  Syne 

civilisation  and  Christianity,  and  it  was  felt  to  be 
absolutely  necessary  to  drive  them  back,  or  to  in- 
duce them  to  adopt  a  civilised  and  Christian  mode 
of  life.  In  1134  Albrecht,  commonly  called  Al- 
brecht  the  Bear,  had  been  invested  by  the  Emperor 
Lothar  with  the  Northern  Mark,  or  the  Mark 
Brandenburg,  as  his  fief,  in  order  to  defend  it  as 
best  he  could  against  these  Slavonic  inroads.  This 
Albrecht  the  Bear  is  the  ancestor  of  the  reigning 
Dukes  of  Anhalt,  the  present  duke  being  his  nine- 
teenth successor.  It  was  the  same  Mark  Branden- 
burg which  was  afterwards  to  become  the  cradle  of 
Prussia  and  indirectly  of  the  German  Empire.  Al- 
brecht's  influence  was  so  great  at  the  time  that, 
after  the  death  of  the  Emperor  Lothar,  he  suc- 
ceeded in  carrying  the  election  of  the  Emperor 
Konrad  III.,  the  Hohenstaufen,  against  the  Welfic 
party,  who  wished  to  raise  the  Duke  of  Bavaria, 
Henry  the  Proud,  to  the  Imperial  throne  of  Ger- 
many. The  Emperor  rewarded  Albrecht's  services 
by  taking  the  Duchy  of  Saxony  away  from  the 
Welfic  Duke  of  Bavaria,  and  bestowing  it  on  him. 
This  led  to  a  bloody  war  between  the  two  claim- 
ants, and  ended  in  the  defeat  of  Albrecht.  But 
though  deprived  again  of  his  Saxon  fief,  Albrecht 
proved  so  successful  in  his  own  mark  against  the 
Sorbs  and  Wends  that  be  received  the  title  of 
Markgrave  of  Brandenburg,  and  as  such  became 


Recollections  of  Royalties  229 

one  of  the  Electors  of  the  German  Empire.  All 
those  fierce  fights  against  the  Slavonic  races  on  the 
western  frontier  of  Germany  are  now  well-nigh  for- 
gotten, and  only  the  names  of  towns  and  rivers  re- 
main to  remind  us  how  much  of  what  is  now  Ger- 
man soil,  between  the  Elbe  and  Oder,  had  for  a 
long  time  been  occupied  by  Slavonic  tribes,  uncivil- 
ised and  pagan.  Albrecht  had  really  inherited  this 
task  of  subduing  and  expelling  these  enemies  from 
German  soil  from  his  father,  Count  Otto,  who  was 
the  grandson  of  Count  Esiko  of  Ballenstadt  (1050). 
All  these  princes  and  their  knights  had  to  spend 
their  lives  in  settling  and  defending  the  frontiers 
or  marks  of  Germany,  or  of  what  had  been  German 
soil  before  the  southward  migrations  of  the  Ger- 
man tribes  began.  They  held  their  fiefs  from  the 
German  Emperors,  but  were  left  free  to  do  what- 
ever they  deemed  necessary  in  the  defence  of  their 
strongholds  (burgs)  and  settlements.  The  first  of 
the  Saxon  Emperors,  Henry  I.  (919-936),  was 
called  the  Burgenbauer,  because  he  encouraged  all 
over  Germany  the  building  of  strongholds  which 
afterwards  grew  into  villages  and  towns,  and  thus 
led  gradually  to  a  more  civilised  life  in  the  German 
Empire.  Wherever  it  was  possible  churches  were 
built,  bishoprics  were  founded,  monasteries  and 
schools  established  and  supported  by  liberal  grants 
of  land.     A  great  share  in  this  Eastern  conquest 


230  Auld  Lang  Syne 

fell  to  the  Counts  of  Anhalt,  and  their  achievements 
were  richly  rewarded  by  the  great  Saxon  Emper- 
ors, Henry  I.  and  Otto  the  Great.  There  can  be  no 
doubt  that  these  bloody  crusades  of  the  German 
Markgraves  against  their  pagan  enemies  in  the 
East  of  Europe,  though  less  famous,  left  more  last- 
ing and  more  substantial  benefits  to  Germany  than 
all  the  crusades  against  the  Saracens. 

I  shall  carry  my  historical  retrospect  no  far- 
ther, but  it  may  easily  be  imagined  how  this  long 
and  glorious  history  of  the  princes  of  the  house 
of  Anhalt  made  a  deep  impression  on  the  minds 
of  the  young  generation,  and  how  even  as  boys 
we  felt  proud  of  our  Duke.  Though  the  be- 
lief in  heredity  was  not  then  so  strong  as  it  is 
now — and  I  must  confess  that  even  now  my  own 
belief  in  acquired  excellencies  being  inherited  is 
very   small — yet   standing  before   our  Ascanian* 

*  Ascania  seems  to  have  been  the  Latin  rendering  of  Asgaria, 
■which  appears  on  the  map  as  Ascharien,  and  is  now  called  Asch- 
ersleben.  It  must  have  been  very  tempting  for  a  mediasval 
Latin  scholar  to  see  in  Asgaria  or  Ascliaria  a  trace  of  Ascauius, 
the  son  of  Aeneas.  Old  local  names,  however,  are  difficult  to 
explain,  particularly  if  they  occur  on  German  soil  that  was  for- 
merly occupied  by  Slavonic  tribes,  because  the  Germans  often 
mispronounced  and  then  misinterpreted  Slavonic  names.  It  is 
easy  to  guess,  but  often  difficult  to  prove  their  original  form 
and  meaning.  If,  as  seems  but  fair,  we  admit  a  German  origin 
for  yisr/aria  or  Ascharien,  it  is  most  natural  to  see  in  it  a  mod- 
ification of  the  well-known  word  As-ga)d,  i.e.,  the  home  of  the 


Recollections  of  Royalties  231 

Duke,  the  descendant  and  representative  of  so 
many  glorious  ancestors,  one  felt  something  like 

gods.  As  (or  ass),  plus-aesir,  was  a  name  of  the  gods  in  Old 
Norse  ;  in  Gothic  it  would  have  been,  as  Grimm  has  shown 
("  Deutsche  Mythol.,"  p.  22),  Anses,  and  this  is  found  in  sev- 
eral proper  names  such  as  Ansgar,  AS.  Oscar,  god-spear.  The 
Swedish  aska,  lightning,  thunder,  if  it  stands  for  as-ekja,  meant 
originally  the  driving  of  the  god,  i  e  ,  of  Thor,  thunder  being 
supposed  to  be  due  to  the  rattle  of  his  chariot.  Proper  names 
such  as  Asbjorn,  Asmodr  display  the  same  element.  Asgard  is 
the  abode  of  the  gods,  by  the  side  of  Mitgart,  the  abode  of  men, 
or  the  earth,  and  would  have  supplied  a  very  natural  name 
either  for  a  sanctuary  or  for  any  place  sacred  to  the  gods.  But 
though  our  way  seems  easy  from  Asgard  to  Asgaria,  Ascania, 
Ascharien  and  even  Aschersleben,  and  though  in  Esics  also,  the 
name  of  a  Prince  of  Asgaria,  we  may  recognise  a  derivation  of 
As,  meaning  divine  or  beloved  by  the  gods,  Gottlieb,  there  is 
another  word  that  may  put  in  a  claim  on  Askanius  if  that  was 
not  a  more  learned  corruption  of  Asgaria.  For  Askr  in  German 
mythology  (Grimm,  I.e.,  p.  327)  is  the  first  man,  and  means 
ashtree,  and  from  him  the  Iscaevones,  mentioned  by  Tacitus, 
derived  their  name  (Grimm,  l.c.^  p.  324).  According  to  tradition 
the  first  King  of  the  Saxons  also  was  called  Aschanes,  and  he  is 
said  to  have  sprung  from  a  rock  in  the  midst  of  a  wood  (Grimm, 
/.c,  p.  537).  We  must  admit  therefore  the  possibility  that  our 
Ascanius  was  a  German  word  Aschanes,  and  in  that  case  had 
nothing  to  do  with  As,  aesir,  the  ancient  gods  of  the  Scandina- 
vians. Having  met  with  these  various  traces  of  the  gods  as  the 
names  of  men  and  places  in  Anhalt,  one  feels  tempted  to  see 
in  the  An  of  Anhalt  too  a  remnant  of  the  same  name.  Anhalt 
is  explained  as  the  place  ane  holt,  without  wood,  but  as  it  seems 
to  have  stood  in  the  very  midst  of  a  wood,  or  an  der  halde,  near 
the  precipice,  this  derivation  is  not  very  likely.     Others  take  it 


232  Auld  Lang  Syne 

the  awe  which  one  feels  when  looking  at  an  oak 
that  has  weathered  many  a  storm,  and  still  sends 
forth  every  year  its  rich  green  foliage.  It  was  a 
just  pride  that  made  even  the  schoolboys  lift  their 
caps  before  their  stately  Duke  and  his  noble  Duch- 
ess, and  I  must  confess  that  something  of  that 
feeling  has  remained  with  me  for  life,  and  the  title 
of  Serene  Highness,  which  has  since  been  changed 
to  Royal  Highness  (Hoheit),  has  always  sounded 
to  my  ears  not  as  an  empty  title  or  as  inferior  to 
Royal  Highness  or  even  Majesty,  but  as  the  high- 
est that  could  be  bestowed  on  any  sovereign,  if  he 
had  deserved  it  by  high  ideals,  and  by  true  seren- 
ity of  mind  in  the  storms  and  battles  of  life. 

As  to  myself,  if  as  a  boy  I  was  not  quite  so 
much  overawed  by  the  inhabitants  of  the  old 
stately  palace  at  Dessau  as  my  friends  and  school- 
fellows, it  was  due  perhaps  to  their  personal  kiud- 

in  the  modern  sense  of  Anhalt,  a  firm  hold  or  safe  refuge.  All 
this  is  possible,  but  it  is  likewise  possible  to  take  An  for  Ans, 
so  that  Anhalt  might  have  been  the  wood  or  grove  of  the  gods. 
"We  must  not  lay  too  much  stress  on  the  loss  of  the  s,  particu- 
larly if  by  a  popular  etymology  Anhalt  had  been  made  to  convey 
the  meaning  of  support  or  stronghold.  All  these  are  and  can 
only  be  guesses,  and  certainty  could  only  be  gained,  if  at  all, 
from  old  historical  documents  giving  the  original  forms  of  all 
tliese  names  and  trustworth}'  indications  as  to  how  they  arose. 
The  whole  question  is  one  for  the  historian  rather  than  for  the 
philologist,  and  I  gladly  leave  it  to  them  to  solve  the  riddle  if 
they  can. 


Recollections  of  Royalties  233 

ness  to  our  family,  and  likewise  to  a  strange  event 
that  happened  while  I  was  still  very  young.  The 
reigning  Duke  had  three  brothers  and  only  one 
son,  and  in  the  absence  of  male  heirs  it  was  sup- 
posed that  the  duchy  would  have  gone  to  Prussia. 
One  of  his  brothers  had  married  a  Countess  von 
Keina,  and  their  children  therefore  could  not  suc- 
ceed. The  other  brother  was  married  to  a  Hessian 
princess,  and  they  had  no  sons.  But  for  that,  they 
would  possibly  have  succeeded  to  the  throne  of 
Denmark,  as  it  was  only  due  to  the  resignation  of 
the  elder  in  favour  of  her  younger  sister  that  this 
younger  sister,  the  mother  of  the  Princess  of 
Wales,  became  Queen  of  Denmark,  and  her  hus- 
band King.  Both  the  ducal  family  and  the  whole 
country  were  anxious,  therefore,  that  the  only  re- 
maining brother  of  the  Duke  should  many  and 
have  children,  when  suddenly  he  announced  to  the 
world  that  he  had  fallen  in  love  with  a  young  lady 
at  Dessau,  a  cousin  of  mine,  and  that  no  power  on 
earth  should  prevent  him  from  marrying  her. 
There  was  a  considerable  flutter  in  the  dovecotes 
of  the  Dessau  nobility ;  there  was  also  a  very  just 
feehng  of  regTet  among  the  people,  who  disliked 
the  idea  of  a  possible  amalgamation  with  Prussia. 
Everything  that  could  be  thought  of  was  done  to 
prevent  the  marriage,  but  after  waiting  for  several 
years  the  marriage  was  celebrated,  and  my  cousin, 


234  Auld  Lang  Syne 

as  Baronne  von  Stolzenberg,  became  the  Prince's 
(morganatic)  wife,  and  sister-in-law  of  the  reigning 
Duke.  The  Prince  was  a  liandsome  man,  and  ex- 
tremely good-natured  and  kind,  there  was  not  an 
atom  of  pride  in  him.  They  lived  very  happily 
together,  and  after  a  few  years  they  were  re- 
ceived most  cordially  even  by  the  old  Duke  and 
his  relations.  In  this  way  the  doings  and  sayings 
of  the  Duke  and  the  ducal  court  became  less  hid- 
den behind  the  mysterious  veil  that  formerly 
shrouded  Olympus,  and  one  began  to  see  that  its 
inhabitants  were  not  so  very  different  after  all 
from  other  human  beings,  but  that  they  acted  up 
to  their  sense  of  dut}-,  did  a  great  deal  of  good 
work  unknown  to  the  world  at  large,  and  were  cer- 
tainly iu  many  respects  far  more  cultivated  and  far 
more  attractive  than  those  who  were  inclined  to 
sneer  at  the  small  German  courts,  and  to  agitate 
for  their  suppression. 

What  would  Germany  have  been  without  her 
small  courts?  Without  a  Duke  Charles  Augustus 
of  Weimar,  there  would  probably  have  been  no 
Wieland,  no  Herder,  no  Goethe,  and  no  Schiller. 
It  is  not  only  plants  that  want  sunshine,  genius 
also  requires  light  and  warmth  to  bring  it  out,  and 
the  refining  influence  of  a  small  court  was  no- 
where so  necessary  as  during  the  period  of  storm 
and  stress  in  Germany.     It  cannot  be  denied  that 


Recollections  of  Royalties  235 

some  of  these  small  courts  were  hotbeds  of  cor- 
ruption of  every  kind.  I  remember  how  in  my 
younger  days  the  small  Duchy  of  Anhalt-Cothen, 
for  instance,  suffered  extremely  from  maladminis- 
tration during  the  reign  of  the  last  Duke,  who 
died  without  heirs,  and  had  no  scruples  in  impov- 
erishing the  country,  and  suppressing  all  oppo- 
sition, however  legitimate.  He  was  a  sovereign  by 
divine  rights,  as  much  as  the  King  of  Prussia,  and 
with  the  assistance  of  his  ministers  he  could  alien- 
ate and  sell  whatever  he  liked.  He  actually  estab- 
lished a  public  gambling  house  on  the  railway 
station  at  Cothen.  In  the  third  Duchy  of  Anhalt, 
that  of  Anhalt- Bernburg,  the  reigning  Duke  was 
for  a  time  almost  out  of  his  mind,  but  no  one  had 
the  power  to  restrain  or  to  remove  him.  The  min- 
isters did  all  they  could  to  prevent  any  public 
scandal,  but  it  was  not  easy  to  prevent,  if  not  a 
revolution — that  would  have  been  difficult  on  so 
small  a  scale — at  least  a  complaint  to  the  German 
Diet,  and  that  might  have  become  serious.  Many 
were  the  stories  told  of  the  poor  Duke  and  be- 
lieved by  the  people.  Like  all  court  stories  they 
went  on  gi'owing  and  growing,  and  they  were  re- 
peated "  on  the  highest  authority."  One  day,  it 
was  said,  the  Duke  of  Bernburg  had  been  read- 
ing the  history  of  Napoleon,  how  he  had  decorated 
a  sentinel,  and  made  him  an  officer  on  the  field  of 


236  Auld  Lang  Syne 

battle.   The  Duke,  so  we  are  told,  carried  away  by 
his  enthusiasm,  rushed  out  of  his  room,  embraced 
the  sentinel,  fastened  some  medal  on  his  breast 
and  said :  "  Thou  art  a  captain."     The  soldier,  not 
losing  his  presence  of  mind,  said  to  the  Duke  :  "I 
thank    your    Serene    Highness,   but  would    you 
please  give  it  me  in  writing  ?  "     The   Duke  did, 
and  nothing  remained  for   his   ministers  but   to 
grant  to  the  private  the  title  and  the  pension  of 
a  captain,  and  to  let  him  wear  the  small  medal 
which  the  Duke  had  given  him.    I  confess  I  could 
never  come  face  to  face  with  the  fortunate  captain 
or  find  out  his  whereabouts.     Still  to  doubt  the 
truth  of  the  story  would  have  been  considered  the 
extreme  of  historical   scepticism.     Another   time 
the  Duke's  enthusiasm  was  fired  by  reading  an 
account  of  a  wild-boar  hunt  in  the  neighbouring 
duchy  of  Anhalt-Dessau,  which  had  been  attended 
by  a  number  of  princes  from  all  parts  of  Germany. 
He  summoned  his  Prime  Minister  and  told  him, 
"  I  must  have  wild  boars  in  my  forests.     Turn  out 
a  herd  of  pigs,  they  will  do  quite  as  well."     This 
command  too  had  to  be  obeyed,  and  the  extraor- 
dinary part  of  it  was  that  in   a  few  years  these 
tame  pigs  had  completely  reverted  to  their  wild 
state,  probably  not   without  some  intermarriages 
with  neighbouring  wild  boars,  and  the   Duke  of 
Bernburg  could  invite  the  Duke  of  Dessau  and 


Recollections  of  Royalties  237 

other  princes  to  hunt  wild  boars  in  the  Hartz 
mountains,  as  well  as  in  the  forest  of  Dessau. 
Again  I  cannot  vouch  for  the  truth  of  the  story, 
but  I  have  been  assured  by  competent  authorities 
that  such  a  return  from  the  tame  to  the  savage 
state  is  by  no  means  incredible.  Very  soon  after 
this  exploit,  however,  the  ducal  race  of  Bernburg 
became  extinct,  and  the  three  duchies  now  form  a 
happy  union  under  the  old  name  of  Duchy  of  An- 
halt. 

The  year  1848  came  at  last,  and  everything  was 
changed.  There  were  emeutes  in  the  streets  of 
Dessau,  and  when  one  of  my  uncles,  the  General 
commanding  the  ducal  army,  Avas  telling  his  men 
that  they  would  have  to  fire  on  the  people,  he  re- 
ceived a  message  from  some  of  them  to  say  that 
they  would  willingly  fire  on  anybody  outside  the 
town  in  the  open,  but  not  in  the  streets,  because 
they  might  smash  their  own  fathers'  windows. 
This  respect  for  window-glass  served,  however,  an- 
other good  purpose.  When  my  uncle,  in  default 
of  a  large  enough  prison,  had  to  confine  a  number 
of  people  in  the  Duke's  hothouses,  they  were  as 
quiet  as  lambs,  because  here  too  they  were  afraid 
of  breaking  the  glass.  In  spite  of  this  innate  re- 
spect for  glass  and  established  authority,  much 
mischief  was  done  at  Dessau  in  1848.  Splendid 
old  oaks  in  the  ducal  forests  were  cut  down,  the 


238  Auld  Lang  Syne 

game  was  killed  by  hundreds,  and  a  new  constitu- 
tion was  proclaimed.  There  was  a  chamber,  I  be- 
lieve there  was  even  a  desire  for  a  House  of  Peers, 
if  Peers  could  be  found ;  there  w^ere  two  respon- 
sible ministers,  and  the  Duke  had  to  be  satisfied 
with  a  Civil  List. 

The  Duke  bore  all  this  with  wonderful  serenity, 
but  the  Duchess  died,  I  believe,  from  anxiety  and 
nervous  prostration.  In  1848  even  Dukes  and 
Duchesses  were  hustled,  and  this  was  more  than 
she  could  bear.  She  had  done  all  that  was  in  her 
power  to  make  herself  useful  in  her  exalted  posi- 
tion, and  she  deeply  felt  the  ingratitude  of  those 
whom  she  had  helped  and  befriended  in  former 
years,  and  who  had  joined  the  opposition.  She 
told  me  herself  that  she  had  once  to  walk  out  on 
foot  from  her  palace  with  an  umbrella,  because 
every  one  of  her  four  can-iages  had  been  ordered 
by  the  Prime  Minister,  the  Second  Minister,  the 
wife  of  the  Prime,  and  some  friend  of  the  Second 
Minister.  This  Second  Minister  was  a  young  man 
who  had  left  the  University  not  many  years  before, 
and  was  practising  at  Dessau  as  a  lawyer.  Of 
course,  there  was  great  joy  among  his  former  Uni- 
versity friends ;  many  were  invited  to  Dessau,  and 
as  there  was  an  abundance  of  old  wine  in  the 
castle,  the  gates  of  the  ducal  cellar,  so  I  was  in- 
formed, were  thrown  oj^Gn,  and  the  thirsty  young 


Recollections  of  Royalties  239 

students  soon  reduced  the  store  of  wine  to  what 
they  thought  more  reasonable  dimensions.  Some 
of  the  Ehenish  wines  in  that  cellar  were  more  than 
a  himdred  years  old,  so  old  that  but  a  few  bottles 
were  fit  for  di'inking.  A  thick  crust  had  formed 
inside  the  bottles,  and  only  one  or  two  glasses  of 
wine  were  left.  But  what  was  left  was  consid- 
ered so  useful  as  medicine  in  certain  illnesses  that 
any  doctor  was  allowed  to  prescribe  and  order 
bottles  of  it  from  the  ducal  cellars.  My  uncle,  the 
Commander-in-chief  of  the  small  Anhalt  army,  had 
been  through  all  the  Napoleonic  wars,  had  marched 
tmce  into  Paris,  and  was  such  a  Franzosenfresser, 
that,  fond  as  he  was  of  wine,  he  would  never  touch 
French  wine,  least  of  all  French  champagne.  He 
lived  to  a  very  considerable  age,  he  celebrated  his 
silver,  his  golden,  his  diamond,  and  his  iron  (sixty- 
five  years)  wedding,  and  danced  at  his  diamond 
wedding  with  his  wife  and  one  of  the  bridesmaids. 
He  was  my  godfather,  and  as  he  had  made  the  ac- 
quaintance of  his  wife  at  my  christening,  he  never 
called  me  by  any  other  name  but  "  mein  Wohl- 
thater,"  my  benefactor.  As  he  had  been  at  the 
battle  of  Jeni  (1806)  with  the  Emperor  William, 
then  a  mere  cadet  in  the  Prussian  army,  and  after- 
wards through  many  campaigns,  the  Emperor 
treated  him  to  the  very  end  of  his  life  as  his  per- 
sonal friend.     Once  every  year  he  had  to  go  to 


240  Auld  Lang  Syne 

Berlin  to  stay  with,  the  Emperor,  and  talk  over  old 
times.  He  was  about  five  years  older  than  the 
Emperor,  and  almost  the  last  time  he  saw  him  the 
Emperor  said  to  him :  "  Well,  Stockmarr,  we  are 
both  getting  old,  but  as  long  as  you  march  ahead, 
I  shall  follow."  "  Yes,  your  Majesty,"  Stockmarr 
replied,  "and  as  long  as  you  are  behind  to  sup- 
port me,  I  hope  we  shall  get  on  and  bring  our 
shares  up  to  par."  "  Oh,  Stockmarr,"  the  Em- 
peror replied,  "you  are  not  a  courtier.  If  you 
knew  what  the  courtiers  say  to  me,  you  would 
have  said,  *  Oh,  your  Majesty,  your  Majesty,  your 
shares  will  rise  to  at  least  15  per  cent,  premium.'  " 
General  Stockmarr  told  me  the  story  himself,  and 
it  gave  me  a  new  idea  of  the  old  Emperor's  hu- 
mour, and  his  insight  into  the  character  of  bis 
surroundings. 

Kind-hearted  as  the  Duke  of  Dessau  was,  there 
were  certain  things  that  he  could  not  stand.  As 
his  deafness  grew  upon  him  his  chief  amusement 
was  shooting  and  driving  about  in  his  open  car- 
riage through  the  beautiful  oak-forests  that  sur- 
round Dessau.  There  are  long  avenues  through 
the  old  oak-forests  like  bowers  formed  by  the  low- 
er branches  of  the  trees,  so  that  one  can  see  the 
deer  a  mile  off.  Here  the  old  Duke  was  to  be 
seen  almost  every  day.  The  common  people  had 
many  endearing  names  for  him,  and  when  they 


Recollections  of  Royalties  241 

saw  his  carriage  from  a  distance  tbey  shouted 
Hd  Kimmet,  and  the  whole  village  was  soon  gath- 
ered to  see  their  kind  old  Duke  passing.  He 
knew  every  tree,  every  stone,  every  road.  In  a 
wood  not  far  from  Dessau  there  was  a  large  boul- 
der, dropped  there  by  a  passing  iceberg  long  be- 
fore the  time  even  of  Albrecht  the  Bear  and  Count 
Esiko.  One  day,  as  he  was  passing  by,  the  Duke 
missed  the  stone  and  drove  straight  to  the  next 
village  to  find  out  who  had  dared  to  move  it. 
The  Schulze  of  the  village  stood  trembling  before 
the  Duke,  and  had  to  confess  that  as  the  road  had 
had  to  be  mended,  the  village  commune  had  de- 
cided to  blast  the  old  useless  stone  and  to  break  it 
up  for  that  purpose.  The  Duke  declared  that  it 
was  his  stone,  that  they  had  no  right  to  touch  it, 
and  that  they  must  replace  it.  That  was,  of 
course,  an  impossibility,  without  going  back  as  far 
as  the  Glacial  period.  But  the  peasants  had  to 
go  on  searching  all  over  the  neighbourhood  till  at 
last  they  found  two  similar  boulders,  not  quite  so 
large  as  the  original  stone  of  offence,  still,  large 
enough  to  cause  them  much  trouble  and  expense 
in  transporting  them  to  their  village.  This  was 
their  punishment,  and  from  it  there  was  no  ap- 
peal. The  two  new  stones  may  now  be  seen  in  a 
public  park  near  Dessau,  dedicated  to  the  mem- 
ory, one  of  Bismarck,  the  other  of  Moltke. 
16 


242  Auld  Lang  Syne 

The  sound  of  tlie  Duke's  carriage  was  well 
known,  not  only  in  the  town,  but,  as  the  people 
said,  even  by  the  deer  in  the  forest.  Other  car- 
riages might  pass  and  the  deer  would  not  budge, 
but  as  soon  as  the  Duke's  carnage  was  heard  ap- 
proaching they  would  all  scamper  away.  The 
fact  was  that  no  one  was  allowed  to  shoot  in  the 
large  ducal  preserves  except  the  Duke  himself.  It 
was  a  very  great  favour  if  he  allowed  even  his 
brothers  or  his  best  friends  to  accompany  him 
now  and  then. 

Some  of  his  forests  were  stocked  with  wild 
boars.  These  animals  were  quite  tame  while  they 
were  being  fed  in  winter,  but  in  summer  they 
would  attack  the  horses  of  a  carriage  and  become 
really  dangerous.  If  they  could  break  out  by 
night,  which  happened  not  unfrequently,  the  peas- 
ants would  find  next  morning  whole  fields  of 
com  ploughed  up,  trampled  down,  and  destroyed. 
Large  damages  had  to  be  paid  by  the  Duke,  but 
he  never  demurred  as  long  as  he  was  unshackled 
by  his  two  responsible  ministers.  After  1848, 
however,  not  only  was  the  amount  to  be  paid  for 
damages  considerably  reduced  by  his  ministers, 
but  the  Duke  was  told  that  this  pig-preserving 
was  a  very  expensive  amusement,  and  that  it 
might  make  him  very  unpopular.  The  Duke 
knew  better.     He  knew   the   peasants   liked  his 


Recollections  of  Royalties  243 

boars,  and  still  more  tlie  ample  damages  wliicli  he 
paid,  but  he  did  not  like  the  advice  of  his  minis- 
ters. So  whenever  any  mischief  had  been  done 
by  the  boars,  the  peasants  ran  after  his  carriage  in 
the  forest  and  told  him  how  much  they  had  lost. 
In  his  good-nature  he  used  to  say  :  "  I  will  pay  it 
all,  let  me  know  how  much  it  is  ;  only  do  not  tell 
my  ministers." 

After  a  time  things  settled  down  again  at  Des- 
sau, still  the  old  state  of  things  could  never  come 
back.  The  three  duchies  of  Anhalt-Dessau,  Co- 
then,  and  Bernburg  with  its  beautiful  Hartz 
mountains,  when  united,  formed  a  more  consider- 
able principality,  and  it  was  thought  necessary  to 
have  a  regular  parliament  to  control  its  finances, 
and  watch  over  its  legislation.  Everything  as- 
sumed a  grander  air;  the  Duke,  who  since  the 
days  of  the  Old  Dessauer  had  been  Serene  High- 
ness (Durchlaucht),  now  became  Highness  (Ho- 
heit),  which  is  supposed  to  be  a  step  higher  than 
Serene  Highness  (Durchlaucht),  though  I  cannot 
see  how  language  could  ever  produce  a  finer  title 
than  Serene  Highness.  The  railway,  which  as  the 
Berlin  jokers  said,  had  led  to  the  discovery  of 
Dessau,  brought  it  at  all  events  close  to  Berlin, 
Leipzig,  Magdebm'g,  and  the  great  Continental 
net  of  railways.  People  from  all  parts  of  Ger- 
many came  to  settle  in  the  quiet,  beautiful  town 


244  Auld  Lang  Syne 

on  the  Mulde  ;  the  Elbe  had  been  made  navigable 
nearly  as  far  as  Dessau,  and  the  port  near  the 
Walwitzberg  became  an  important  commercial 
centre  for  export  and  import. 

Whenever  I  pay  a  visit  to  Dessau  I  find  the  town 
more  and  more  enlarged  and  much  improved.  The 
old  lamps  that  swung  across  the  streets  are  gone, 
the  gurgoyles  frown  no  longer  on  large  red  and 
green  umbrellas ;  there  are  gas  lamps,  and  there 
are  waterworks,  and  cabs,  and  tramways.  The 
grass  is  no  longer  allowed  to  grow  in  the  chinks  of 
the  pavement.  The  old  Duke  is  gone,  and  the  old 
people  whom  I  knew  as  a  boy  are  gone  too.  The 
wild  boars  are  still  there,  but  they  are  no  longer 
allowed  to  break  out  of  bounds.  Old  men  and 
women  are  still  seen  sawing  wood  and  cutting  it  up 
in  the  street,  but  I  do  not  know  their  faces,  nor 
the  faces  of  the  old  women  from  whom  I  bought 
my  apples.  I  look  at  every  man  and  woman  that 
passes  me,  there  is  not  one  whose  face  or  name  I 
know.  It  is  only  when  I  go  to  the  old  cemetery 
outside  the  town  that  old  names  greet  me  again, 
some  very  dear  to  me,  others  almost  forgotten  dur- 
ing my  Wanderjahre.  No  doubt  the  present  is  bet- 
ter, and  the  future,  let  us  tnist,  will  be  better  still ; 
but  the  past  had  its  own  charms ;  our  grandfathers 
were  as  wise  as  their  sons  and  grandsons,  and  pos- 
sibly they  were  happier. 


RECOLLECTIONS  OF   ROYALTIES 


II 


My  first  and  very  pleasant  contact  with  Koyalty 
had  taken  place  at  Dessau,  while  I  was  a  school- 
boy. When  afterwards  I  went  to  the  University 
of  Berlin,  the  Duchess  of  Dessau  had  given  me 
an  introduction  to  Alexander  von  Humboldt,  and 
while  I  was  in  Paris,  working  at  the  then  Biblio- 
theque  Eoyale,  Humboldt  had  used  his  powerful 
influence  with  the  King,  Frederick  "William  IV.,  to 
help  me  in  publishing  my  edition  of  the  "Rig 
Veda"  in  Germany.  Nothing,  however,  came  of 
that  plan  ;  it  proved  too  costly  for  any  private  pub- 
lisher, even  with  Royal  assistance.  But  when, 
after  having  published  the  first  volume  in  England, 
under  the  patronage  of  the  East  India  Company, 
I  passed  some  weeks  at  Berlin,  in  1850,  collating 
some  of  the  Vedic  MSS.  in  the  Royal  Library 
there,  I  received  a  message  from  Humboldt  that 
the  King  wished  to  see  me. 

Frederick  William  IV.  was  a  man  of  exceptional 
245 


246  Auld  Lang  Syne 

talent,  nay,  a  man  of  genius.  I  had  heard  much 
about  him  from  Buusen,  who  was  a  true  friend  and 
confidant  of  the  King,  ever  since  they  had  met  at 
Rome.  I  had  seen  some  of  the  King's  letters  to 
Bunsen;  some  of  them,  if  I  remember  rightly, 
signed,  not  by  the  King's  name,  but  by  Congru- 
erdla  Incongruentium,  probably  from  his  imagining 
that  the  different  opinions  and  counsels  of  his  va- 
rious friends  and  advisers  would  find  their  solution 
in  him.  This  idea,  if  it  was  entertained  by  the 
King,  would  account  for  the  many  conflicting  sides 
of  his  character,  and  the  frequent  changes  in  his 
ojDinions.  I  presented  my  volume  of  the  "Rig 
Veda  "  to  him  at  a  private  audience.  He  knew  all 
about  it,  and  had  so  much  to  t  jU  me  about  the  old- 
est book  of  mankind,  that  I  had  hardly  a  chance  to 
say  anything  myself.  But  it  was  impossible  to  lis- 
ten to  him  without  feeling  that  one  was  in  the 
presence  of  a  mind  of  very  considerable  grasp  and 
of  high  and  noble  ideals. 

A  few  days  after  this  audience  I  received  an  in- 
vitation to  dine  with  the  King  at  Potsdam,  and 
Humboldt  wrote  to  me  that  he  would  take  me  in 
his  carriage. 

But  a  curious  intermezzo  happened.  While  I 
was  quietly  sitting  in  my  room  with  my  mother, 
a  yoimg  lieutenant  of  police  entered,  and  began  to 
ask  a  number  of  extremely  silly  questions — why 


Recollections  of  Royalties  247 

I  had  come  to  Berlin,  when  I  meant  to  return  to 
England,  what  had  kept  me  so  long  at  Berlin, 
etc.  After  I  had  fully  explained  to  him  that  I 
was  collating  Sanskrit  MSS.  at  the  Royal  Library, 
he  became  more  peremptory,  and  informed  me 
that  the  police  authorities  thought  that  a  fortnight 
must  be  amply  sufficient  for  that  purpose  (how  I 
wished  that  it  had  been  so),  and  that  they  re- 
quested me  to  leave  Berlin  in  twenty-four  hours. 
I  produced  my  passport,  perfectly  en  regie  ;  I  ex- 
plained that  I  wanted  but  another  week  to  finish 
my  work.  It  was  all  of  no  avail,  I  was  told  that 
I  must  leave  in  twenty-four  hours.  I  then  col- 
lected my  thoughts,  and  said  very  quietly  to  the 
young  lieutenant,  "Please  to  tell  the  police  au- 
thorities that  I  shall,  of  course,  obey  orders,  and 
leave  Berlin  at  once,  but  that  I  must  request  them 
to  inform  His  Majesty  the  King  that  I  shall  not 
be  able  to  dine  with  him  to-night  at  Potsdam." 
The  poor  young  man  thought  I  was  laughing  at 
him,  but  when  he  saw  that  I  was  in  earnest  he 
looked  thunderstruck,  bowed,  and  went  away.  All 
this  seems  now  almost  incredible  even  to  myself 
while  I  am  writing  it  down,  but  so  it  was.  Nor 
was  the  explanation  far  to  seek.  One  of  my 
friends,  with  whom  I  had  been  almost  every  day, 
was  Dr.  Goldstucker,  a  young  Sanskrit  scholar, 
who  had  been  mixed  up  with  political  intrigues, 


248  Auld  Lang  Syne 

and  had  long  been  under  strict  surveillance.  I 
was  evidently  looked  upon  as  an  emissary  from 
England,  then  considered  the  focus  of  all  political 
conspiracies ;  possibly  my  name  had  been  found 
in  the  Black  Book  as  a  dangerous  man,  who,  when 
he  was  about  eighteen,  had  belonged  to  a  secret 
society,  and  had  sung  Arndt's  song,  ""Was  ist  des 
Deutschen  Vaterland,"  before  Bismarck  sang  it  in 
his  own  way.  It  was  not  long,  however,  before 
another  police  official  appeared,  an  elderly  gentle- 
man of  very  pleasant  manners,  who  explained  to 
me  how  sorry  he  was  that  the  young  lieutenant  of 
police  should  have  made  so  foolish  a  mistake.  He 
begged  me  entirely  to  forget  what  had  happened, 
as  it  would  seriously  injure  the  young  lieutenant's 
prospects  if  I  lodged  a  complaint  against  him.  I 
promised  to  forget,  and,  at  all  events,  not  to  refer 
to  what  had  happened  in  the  Boyal  presence. 

Humboldt  and  I  drove  to  Potsdam,  and  I  had  a 
most  delightful  dinner  and  evening  party.  The 
King  was  extremely  gracious,  full  of  animated  con- 
versation, and  evidently  in  the  best  of  humours. 
While  the  Queen  was  speaking  to  me,  he  walked 
up  to  us,  bowed  to  the  Queen,  and  said  to  her,  not 
to  me,  "S'il  vous  plait,  monsieur."  With  this 
sally  he  took  her  arm  and  wallced  into  the  dining- 
room.  We  followed  and  sat  down,  and  during  the 
whole  dinner  the  King  carried  on  a  conversation 


Recollections  of  Royalties  249 

in  a  voice  so  loud  tliat  no  one  else  ventured  to 
speak.  I  watched  the  King,  and  saw  how  his  face 
became  more  and  more  flushed,  while  he  hardly 
touched  a  drop  of  wine  during  the  whole  of  din- 
ner. 

After  dinner  we  all  stood,  and  the  King  walked 
about  from  one  to  the  other. 

Humboldt,  who  was  at  that  time  an  old  man, 
about  eighty,  stood  erect  for  several  hours  like  all 
the  rest.  When  we  drove  home  it  was  very  late, 
and  I  could  not  help  remarking  on  the  great  sacri- 
fice he  was  making  of  his  valuable  time  in  attend- 
ing these  court  functions. 

"Well,"  he  said,  "the  HohenzoUern  have  been 
very  kind  to  me,  and  I  know  they  like  to  show 
this  old  piece  of  furniture  of  theirs.  So  I  go 
whenever  they  want  me."  He  went  on  to  say  how 
busy  he  was  with  his  "  Kosmos,"  and  how  he 
could  no  longer  work  so  many  hours  as  in  former 
years.  "As  I  get  old,"  he  said,  "  I  want  more 
sleep,  four  hours  at  least.  When  I  was  young," 
he  continued,  "  two  hours  of  sleep  were  quite 
enough  for  me."  I  ventured  to  express  my 
doubts,  apologising  for  differing  from  him  on  any 
physiological  fact.  "It  is  quite  a  mistake,"  he 
said,  "  though  it  is  very  widely  spread,  that  we 
want  seven  or  eight  hours  of  sleep.  When  I  was 
your  age,  I  simply  lay  down  on  the  sofa,  turned 


250  Auld  Lang  Syne 

down  my  lamp,  and  after  two  liours'  sleep  I  was 
as  fresh  as  ever." 

"  Then,"  I  said,  "  your  Excellency's  life  has 
been  double  the  life  of  other  people,  and  this  ac- 
counts for  the  immense  amount  of  work  you  have 
been  able  to  achieve."  Humboldt  was  never  mar- 
ried and,  I  was  told,  had  never  been  in  love.  But 
I  did  not  tell  him  what  was  in  my  mind,  that  un- 
der such  circumstances  his  life  had  really  been 
four  times  that  of  ordinary  mortals. 

"  Yes,"  he  said,  "  I  have  had  a  long  span  of  life 
to  work,  but  I  have  also  been  very  much  helped 
by  my  fi-iends  and  colleagues.  I  know,"  he  con- 
tinued, "  I  have  been  abused  for  not  building  my 
own  stoves  for  making  chemical  experiments ;  but 
a  general,  in  order  to  make  great  conquests,  must 
have  colonels,  captains,  lieutenants,  and  even  pri- 
vates under  him."  And  those  who  served  under 
him  and  assisted  him  had  certainly  no  cause  to  re- 
gret it.  He  helped  them  whenever  he  could,  and 
his  influence  at  that  time  was  very  great.  To  bo 
mentioned  in  a  note  in  his  "  Kosmos "  was  for 
a  scholar  what  it  was  for  a  Greek  city  to  be 
mentioned  in  the  catalogue  of  ships  in  the 
"  Iliad."  I  could  not  resist  telling  him  in  strict 
confidence  my  little  adventure  with  the  police 
lieutenant,  and  he  was  highly  amused.  I  hope  he 
did  not  tell  the  King;  anyhow,  no  names  were 


Recollections  of  Royalties  251 

mentioned  and  the  poor  lieutenant  of  police,  who, 
of  course,  had  only  done  what  he  was  told,  may, 
long  ago  I  hope,  have  become  a  president  of 
police,  or  some  "grosses  Thier,"  AVhen  I  left 
Humboldt  I  felt  I  should  not  see  him  again,  and 
the  old  man  was  moved  as  much  as  I  was  in 
saying  good-bye.  These  old  heroes  had  very 
large  and  tender  hearts.  After  all,  I  was  only  one 
out  of  hundreds  of  young  men  in  whom  he  took 
an  interest,  and  I  happen  to  know  that  his  inter- 
est was  not  only  in  words,  but  in  deeds  also.  He 
was  by  no  means  what  we  should  call  a  rich  man, 
but  I  know  that  he  sent  young  Brugsch,  after- 
wards the  great  Egyptian  scholar,  Brugsch  Pasha, 
a  handsome  sum  of  money  to  enable  him  to 
finish  his  studies  at  the  University  of  Berlin, 
though  no  one  at  the  time  heard  anything  about 
it. 

I  did  not  see  Humboldt  again,  nor  Frederick 
William  IV.  Long  before  this  time  it  had  become 
clear  that  King  William  IV.  was  not  what  he  im- 
agined himself  to  be — the  congruence  of  all  the 
incongruent  elements  then  fermenting  in  Prussia 
and  Germany  at  large.  There  can  be  little  doubt 
that  towards  the  end  of  his  life  his  mind,  or  rather 
his  judgment,  had  given  way.  His  mind,  I  be- 
lieve, remained  lively  to  the  very  end ;  but,  in  a 
State  like  Prussia,   the   GoYernment    without    a 


252  Auld  Lang  Syne 

clear-sighted  King  is  like  a  runaway  engine  with- 
out its  driver.  It  may  keep  to  the  rails  for  a  time, 
but  there  is  sure  to  be  a  smash  at  the  end.  The 
King  had  parted  with  one  friend  after  another. 
His  own  brother,  the  Prince  of  Prussia,  after- 
wards the  first  German  Emperor,  fell  into  dis- 
grace, and  had  in  the  end  to  leave  the  country  and 
take  refuge  ip  England.  The  name  by  which  he 
was  known  in  the  family  was  not  flattering.  He 
was  a  soldier,  clear-headed  and  straightforward. 
His  whole  heart  was  in  the  army,  and  when  he 
afterwards  came  to  the  throne,  he  wisely  left 
everything  else  to  his  responsible  ministers,  after 
he  had  once  learnt  to  trust  them.  The  army  was 
the  pride  of  his  life,  and  to  see  that  army  ordered 
out  of  Berlin,  and  not  allowed  to  restore  order  in 
the  streets  of  the  capital,  had  nearly  broken  his 
heart.  He  was  intensely  unpopular  in  1848.  His 
own  palace  was  taken  possession  of,  and,  in  order 
to  preserve  it  from  pillage,  a  large  inscription  was 
put  on  the  walls,  "  National  Property."  I  was  not 
in  Germany  that  year,  but  I  heard  much  from  my 
friends  there— v.  Schloezer,  Ernst  Curtius,  and 
others — all  personal  friends  of  the  Prince  and 
Princess  of  Prussia.  The  Prince  was  not  even  al- 
lowed to  command  his  own,  the  Prussian  army,  in 
the  Schleswig-Holstein  war,  then  just  beginning ; 
and  the  following  letter,  written  in  London,  and 


Recollections  of  Royalties  253 

addressed  to   one   of    his   comrades,   shows  how 
deeply  he  felt  it : — 

Mit  welchen  Gefiihlen  habe  ich  gestem  Euren  Sieg  bei 
Schleswig  vernommen !  ! !  Gott  sei  Dank  dass  unser  alter 
Waflfenruhm  auch  gegen  einen  ehrliclien  Feind  sich  be- 
wabrt  bat  I  Sage  docb  Deinen  Untergebenen,  wie  gliick- 
licb  ich  ware  iiber  diese  Siegesnachricbt :  wie  der  Geist, 
der  Eucb  zum  Siege  f  iihrte,  der  alte  preussiscbe  war,  der 
vor  nicbts  zuriickscbreckt.  Wie  benei^e  ich  Dir  das 
Gliick,  diese  Lorbeeren  geerntet  zu  haben.  Du  weisst, 
wie  nahe  es  daran  war,  dass  ich  sie  mit  Dir  hatte  theilen 
konnen.  Wie  waren  dabei  alle  meine  Wiinsche  in  Erfiil- 
lung  gegangen:  Truppen  meiuer  beiden  lieben  Corps 
gefiihrfc  zu  haben,  im  Ernst  -  Kami^fe  ! — Es  sollte  nicht 
sein ! — Aber  ich  kann  es  nicht  verschmerzen,  da  die  Mog- 
lichkeit  vorhanden  war !  Nun,  Gott  wird  es  doch  wohl 
noch  einst  so  fiigen,  dem  wir  ja  Alles  anheim  stellen 
miissen.  Wer  kann  und  muss  es  wohl  mit  mehr  Resigna- 
tion als  ich  I  Er  priift  mich  schwer,  aber  mit  einem 
reinen  Gewissen  erwarte  ich  den  Tag  der  Wahrheit,  damit 
ich  dem  neuen  Preussen  meine  Kriifte  widmen  kann,  wie 
dem  alten,  wenngleich  das  Herz  trauern  muss,  iiber  den 
Fall  des  alien  Preussen,  des  Selbstandigen.  Lebe  wohl  I 
Gott  schiitze  Dich  ferner  und  erhalte  Dich  den  Deinen, 
die  sehr  besorgt  sein  miissen.  Ich  kenne  die  Verluste 
noch  nicht,  mir  bangt  etwas  vor  ihnen. 

Ewig  Dein  treuer  Freund, 

WUiHEIiM. 

London,  d.  29.  4.  48. 

I  was  at  that  time  in  London,  and  often  with 
Bunseu   at    the   Prussian    Lepration    in    Carlton 


254  Auld  Lang  Syne 

House  Terrace.  There  was  a  coustant  succession 
of  couriers  bringing  letters  from  Berlin.  On  one 
occasion  a  sub-editor  from  The  Times  office  ruslied 
in  and  said  :  "  Well,  another  one  is  gone,  the  King 
of  Bavaria  !  "  He  did  not  see  that  the  Bavarian 
minister,  Baron  Cetto,  was  in  the  room,  and  thus 
received  this  very  informal  notification  of  his 
sovereign's  fate.  It  was  known  that  the  King  had 
remained  at  his  palace,  but  that  the  Prince  of 
Prussia  had  left  Berlin.  For  several  days  no  one 
knew  where  he  was.  I  was  quietly  sitting  on  the 
sofa  with  Bunsen  (27th  March,  18i8,  8  a.m.)  dis- 
cussing some  question  of  Vedic  mythology,  when 
a  servant  came  in  and  whispered  something  in 
Bunsen's  ear.  Bunsen  rose,  took  me  by  the  arm 
and  said  :  "  Make  haste,  run  away."  I  did  so, 
and  as  I  ran  out  of  the  door  I  nished  against  the 
Prince  of  Prussia.  I  hardly  knew  him  at  first,  for 
he  was  not  in  uniform,  and  had  no  moustache. 
In  fact,  I  saw  him  as  few  people  have  ever  seen 
him.  He  stayed  in  London  for  many  weeks  at 
the  Prussian  Legation,  where  I  met  him  several 
times,  and,  honest  and  hardworking  as  he  was  all 
through  life,  he  did  not  waste  the  time  in  Bim- 
seu's  house,  nor  did  Bunsen  lose  the  opportunity 
of  showing  the  Prince  how  well  a  free  and  pop- 
ular form  of  government  could  be  carried  on  with 
due  respect  for  order  and  law,  and  with  love  and 


Recollections  of  Royalties  255 

devotion  to  tlie  throne.  This  London  episode  of 
the  Prince's  life  has  borne  ample  fruit  in  the  hey- 
dey  of  the  German  Empire,  and  he  by  whom  the 
seed  was  sown  has  but  seldom  been  remembered, 
or  thanked  for  the  good  work  he  did  then  for  his 
sovereign  and  for  his  country. 

There  was  no  sovereign  more  constitutional 
than  the  King  of  Prussia  at  the  beginning  of  his 
reign.  He  surrounded  himself  with  enlightened 
and  liberal-minded  ministers,  and  never  interfered 
with  their  work.  Having  been  brought  up  to  look 
upon  his  brother  as  a  great  genius,  he  was  very 
humble  about  his  own  qualifications,  and  he  even 
thought  for  a  time  of  abdicating  in  favour  of  his 
son.  This,  however,  would  not  have  suited  Bis- 
marck's hand.  When  the  Prince  of  Prussia  came 
to  the  throne,  he  stipulated  one  thing  only  with 
his  ministers  :  they  must  give  him  a  free  hand  to 
strengthen  the  army;  for  all  the  rest  he  would 
follow  their  advice.  And  so  he  did  for  several 
years.  But  when  they  failed  to  keep  their  prom- 
ise, and  to  get  Parliament  to  pass  the  necessary 
military  budget,  he  parted  with  them  and  invited 
Bismarck  to  form  a  new  ministry  in  1862.  This 
was  the  beginning  of  the  political  drama  which 
ended  at  Sedan,  if  indeed  it  ended  then. 

I  had  heard  much  from  my  friends  Eoggenbach, 
Schloezer,  and  E.   Curtius  about  the  Princess  of 


256  Auld  Lang  Syne 

Prussia  (afterwards  the  Queen  of  Prussia,  and  the 
first  German  Empress),  and  my  expectations  were 
not  deceived  when  I  was  presented  to  her  dm-ing 
her  stay  in  England  in  the  spring  of  1851.  She  was 
grand'  dame,  highly  gifted,  highly  cultivated.  She 
wanted  to  see  everything  and  know  everybody 
worth  knowing  in  England.  It  was  she  who  went 
to  Eton  to  see  a  cricket  match  played.  She  had 
heard  much  about  it,  and  was  most  anxious  to  watch 
it.  After  the  game  had  been  going  on  for  a  good 
quarter  of  an  hour,  she  turned  impatiently  to  the 
Provost,  and  asked  :  ''When  are  the  boys  going  to 
begin  ?  "  She  had  evidently  expected  some  kind  of 
fight  or  skirmish,  and  was  rather  disappointed  at 
the  quiet  and  businesslike  way  in  which  the  boys, 
who  were  on  their  best  behaviour,  threw  the  ball 
and  hit  it  back.  However,  at  that  time  everything 
English,  even  the  games,  was  perfect  in  the  eyes 
of  the  Germans,  and  nothing  more  perfect  than  the 
Princess  Eoyal,  when  she  had  been  won  by  the 
young  Prince  of  Prussia  in  1857.  The  Princess  of 
Prussia  never  forgot  people  whom  she  had  once 
taken  an  interest  in,  and  I  had  several  interesting 
interviews  with  her  later  on — at  Coblentz  in  18G3, 
at  Baden  in  1872.  I  confess  I  was  somewhat  taken 
aback  when,  after  dinner,  the  Empress  took  me  by 
the  hand,  and  stepped  forward,  addressing  the 
whole  company  present,  and  giving  the  ladies  and 


Recollections  of  Royalties  257 

gentlemen  a  full  account  of  wliat  this  Oxford  pro- 
fessor had  done  for  Germany  during  the  Franco- 
German  war  by  defending  their  cause  in  The  Times. 
All  I  could  reply  was  that  I  had  done  little  enough, 
and  that  I  could  not  help  saying  what  I  had  said  in 
The  Times,  and  that  I  was  proud  of  having  been 
well  abused  for  having  spoken  the  truth. 

Whatever  disappointments  she  may  have  had  in 
life,  she  lived  long  enough  to  see  the  fulfilment  of 
her  patriotic  dreams ;  she  wore  the  Imperial  crown 
of  Germany,  and  she  saw  in  the  Crown  Prince 
Frederick  the  fulfilment  of  all  that  a  mother  can 
dream  of  for  her  son.  One  wishes  that  she  had 
died  a  year  sooner,  so  as  to  be  spared  the  terrible 
tragedy  of  her  son's  illness  and  death  in  1888. 

That  son,  our  Princeps  juventutis,  had  been  edu- 
cated by  my  friend  Ernst  Curtius,  and  was  on  most 
friendly  terms  with  many  of  my  German  friends.  I 
made  his  acquaintance  when  he  came  to  Oxford  as 
a  very  young  man  in  1857.  He  brought  George 
Bunsen  and  two  friends  with  him,  and  I  took  rooms 
for  them  at  the  Angel  Hotel,  which  stood  where 
the  Examination  School,  the  so-called  Chamber  of 
Horrors,  now  stands.  For  several  days  I  took  the 
Prince  to  all  the  Colleges  and  to  some  of  the  lect- 
ures, even  to  one  of  the  public  examinations.  No 
one  knew  him,  and  we  preserved  the  strictest  in- 
cognito. He  quickly  perceived  the  advantages  of 
17 


258  Auld  Lang  Syne 

the  English  university  system,  particulaily  of  the 
college  life  and  the  tutorial  teaching.  But  he  saw 
that  it  would  be  hopeless  to  attempt  to  introduce 
that  system  into  Germany.  Though  at  that  time 
everything  English  was  admired  in  Germany,  he 
was  clear-sighted  enough  to  see  that  it  is  better  to 
learn  than  simply  to  copy.  The  weak  point  in  the 
German  university  system  is  that,  unless  an  under- 
graduate is  personally  known  to  a  professor,  he  re- 
ceives very  little  guidance.  He  generally  arrives 
from  school,  where  he  has  been  under  very  strict 
guidance,  without  any  choice  as  to  what  he  reaUy 
wishes  to  learn.  He  then  suddenly  finds  himself 
independent,  and  free  to  choose  from  an  immense 
menu  {Index  ledionuin)  whatever  tempts  his  appe- 
tite. Most  German  students,  when  they  leave 
school,  have  not  only  a  natural  curiosity,  but  a  real 
thirst  for  learning.  They  have  also  a  feeling  of  great 
reverence  for  the  professors,  particularly  for  the 
most  famous  professors  in  each  university.  They 
often  select  their  university  in  order  to  hear  the 
lectures  of  a  certain  professor,  and  if  he  is  moved 
to  another  university  they  migrate  with  him.  In  the 
strictly  professional  faculties  of  medicine,  law,  and 
theology,  there  is  no  doubt  a  certain  routine,  and 
students  know  by  a  kind  of  tradition  what  lectures 
they  should  attend  in  each  semester.  But  in  the 
philosophical  faculty  there  is  little,  if  any,  tradi- 


Recollections  of  Royalties  25:9 

tion,  and  looking  at  my  book  of  lectures,  attested 
by  the  various  professors  at  Leipzig,  I  am  perfectly 
amazed  at  the  variety  of  incongi'uous  subjects  ou 
which  I  attended  professorial  classes.     Unless  they 
were  all  properly  entered  and  attested  in  my  book 
I  could  not  believe  that  at  that  time  (1840-41), 
when  I  was  only  seventeen  years  of  age,  I  had  really 
attended  lectures  on  so  many  heterogeneous  sub- 
jects.    In  this  respect,  in  preventing  waste,  the 
college  or  tutorial  system  has,  no  doubt,  many  ad- 
vantages, but  the  young  Prince  saw  very  clearly 
that  what  is  called  in  Germany  academic  freedom 
cannot  be  touched,  that  the  universities  could  not 
be  changed  into  schools,  if  for  no  other  reason,  be- 
cause it  would  be  impossible  to  find  the  necessary 
funds  to  inaugurate  the  college  system  by  the  side 
of  the  professorial  system.     All  that  could  possibly 
be  done  would  be  to  establish  a  closer  relation  be- 
tween professors  and  undergraduates,  to  increase, 
in  fact,  the  number  of  seminaries  and  societies,  and 
to  make  it  obligatory  on  each  professor  to  have 
some  personal  intercourse  with  the  students  who 
attend  his  lectures. 

The  Prince's  incognito  was  carefully  preserved  at 
Oxford,  though  it  was  not  always  easy  to  persuade 
his  attendants  not  to  bow  and  take  off  their  hats 
whenever  they  met  the  Prince.  The  very  last  day, 
however,  and  just  before  I  asked  for  the  bill  at  the 


26o  Auld  Lang  Syne 

hotel,  one  of  bis  A.D.C.'s  forgot  liimself,  bowed 
very  low  before  tlie  door  of  tlie  liotel,  and  stood 
bareheaded  before  tlie  Prince.  The  hotel-keeper 
smiled  and  came  to  me  with  a  very  knowing  look, 
telling  me  of  the  discovery  he  had  made.  He  was 
very  proud  of  his  perspicacity ;  but  I  am  sorry  to 
say  that  the  discovery  had  its  painful  influence  on 
the  bill  also,  which,  imder  the  circumstances,  could 
not  be  helped. 

"What  struck  the  Prince  most  at  Oxford  was  the 
historical  continuity  of  the  University.  I  reminded 
him  of  the  remark  which  Frederick  William  IV. 
made  when  at  Oxford : — 

"Gentlemen,"  he  said,  "  in  your  University  every- 
thing that  is  young  is  old,  everything  that  is  old  is 
young."  "  We  cannot  do  everything,"  the  Prince 
used  to  say,  "  but  we  shall  do  our  best  in  Ger- 
many." Though  the  Prince  was  still  very  young, 
he  could  at  times  be  very  serious.  There  had  act- 
ually been  rumours,  as  I  have  said  before,  that  his 
father,  always  one  of  the  most  humble-minded  men, 
would  abdicate  in  favour  of  his  son,  who  was  very 
popular,  while  the  father  at  one  time  was  not,  and 
the  thought  that  he  might  soon  be  called  upon  to 
rule  the  destinies  of  Prussia  and  of  Germany  was 
evidently  not  unfamiliar  to  him.  How  different 
was  his  destiny  to  be!  What  terrible  events 
had  happened  before  I  saw  much  of  the  Prince 


Recollections  of  Royalties  261 

again ;  for  thongli  I  saw  liim  in  his  own  happy 
liome  life  at  the  Neue  Palais  at  Potsdam  in  18G3, 
it  was  not  until  after  the  Prusso-Austrian  and 
Franco-German  wars  that  I  had  again  some  real 
personal  intercourse  with  the  Prince  at  Ems  in  the 
year  1871.  He  had  sent  me  a  very  kind  letter  im- 
mediately after  his  return  to  Berlin  from  Paris. 
Even  Bismarck  had  sent  me  a  message  through  his 
private  secretary  that  he  was  proud  of  his  new  ally. 
I  had  defended  the  policy  of  the  German  Emperor 
in  The  Times,  simply  because  I  could  not  keep  si- 
lent when  the  policy  of  Germany  was  misrepre- 
sented to  the  people  of  England. 

Here  is  the  Prince's  letter,  which  I  received  in 
May,  1871  :— 

Berlin,  Mai  1871. 

Ich  habe  mit  aufriclitigem  Danke  und  ganz  besonderem 
Interesse  Eire  "  Letters  on  the  War"  entgegengenommen, 
welche  Sie  die  Freundlicbkeit  batten,  mir  zu  iibersenden. 

Mit  der  einmiitbigen  Hingebung  unseres  Volkes  wabrend 
der  grossen  Zeit  die  wir  durcbkampft,  stebt  im  scbonsten 
Einklang  die  patriotiscbe  Haltung  welcbe  unsere  deutscben 
Briider,  oft  unter  den  scbwierigsten  Verbaltnissen  und  mit 
Opfer  aller  Art  bewiibrt  und  durcb  die  sie  sicb  f iir  immer 
einen  Anspracb  auf  die  Dankbarkeifc  des  Vaterlandes  er- 
worben  baben. 

Dass  die  Erfabrungen,  welcbe  die  Deutscben  in  England 
wabrend  unseres  rubmvollen  Krieges  gemacbt,  nicbt  im- 
mer erfreulich  waren,  ist  mir  ireilicb  bekanut,  Griinde  der 
verscbiedensten  Art  kamen  zusammen  um  eine  Verstim- 


262  Auld  Lang  Syne 

mung  zu  erzeugen,  die  hiiben  und  driiben  von  alien  ein- 
sichtigen  und  patriotischen  Mannern  gleich  schmerzlich 
empfunden  ist. 

Meine  feste  und  zuversichtliche  Hoflfnung  bleibt  es  aber 
dass  dieselbe  bald  jenem  herzlichen  Eiuvernehmen  wieder 
Platz  maclien  wird,  welches  die  Natur  unserer  gegeuseiti- 
gen  Beziehungen  und  Interessen  verlangt.  Dieses  Ziel 
wollen  wir  verfolgen,  unbeirrt  durch  Aufregungen  und 
Eindriicke  des  Augenblicks,  iiberzeugt,  dass  es  filr  das 
Gedeihen  beider  Lander  ebenso  heilsam  wie  fiir  den 
Frieden  Europa's  unerlasslich  ist. 

Sie  liaben  Ihrerseits  niemals  aufgehort  in  diesem  Geisfce 
thiitig  zu  sein  und  es  ist  mir  deshalb  Bediirfniss,  Ihuen 
meine  dankbare  Anerkennung  f  Lir  Ihr  erfolgreiches  Wir- 
ken  liierdurcli  auszuspreclien. 

Ihr  wohlgeneigter 

FrIEDKICH  WlLHEIiM. 

At  Ems  the  Prince  was  tlie  popular  hero  of  the 
day,  and  wherever  he  showed  himself  he  was  en- 
thusiastically greeted  by  the  people.  He  sent  me 
word  that  he  wished  to  see  me.  When  I  arrived 
the  antechambers  were  crowded  with  Highnesses, 
Excellencies,  Generals,  all  covered  with  stars  and 
ribands.  I  gave  my  card  to  an  A.  D.  C.  as  simple 
Max  Miiller,  and  was  told  that  I  must  wait,  but  I 
soon  saw  there  was  not  the  slightest  chance  of  my 
having  an  audience  that  morning.  I  had  no  uni- 
form, no  order,  no  title.  From  time  to  time  an 
officer  called  the  name  of  Prince  So-and-So,  Count 
So-and-So,   and    people  became   very   impatient. 


Recollections  of  Royalties  263 

Suddenly  the  Prince  himself  opened  the  door,  and 
called  out  in  a  loud  voice,  "  Maximiliane,  Maxi- 
miliane,  kommen  Sic  herein ! " 

There  was  consternation  in  the  crowd  as  I 
walked  through,  but  I  had  a  most  pleasant  half- 
hour  with  the  Prince.  Once  when  I  began  to 
bubble  over  and  tried  to  express,  as  well  as  I 
,  could,  my  admiration  for  his  splendid  achieve- 
ments in  the  war,  he  turned  away  rather  angrily, 
and  said,  "Na,  sind  Sie  denn  auch  unter  die 
Schmeichler  gegangen  !  "  I  wrote  a  sonnet  at  the 
time,  which  I  find  among  my  old  papers : — 

IN  EMS  AM  19.  JULI  1871. 

DEM  KRONPRINZEN  VON  DEUTSCHLAND. 

Wie  jungen  Most  von  altem  Holz  umscblungen 
Fiihlt  ich  mein  Blut,  das  sich  im  Herzen  riihrte, 
Als  es  den  Drnck  der  Heldenhand  verspiirte, 
Die  Deutschlands  Schwert  so  ritterlich  geschwungen. 

Oft  hort  ieli's  schon  gesagt  und  auch  gesungen, 
Wie  Dich  dein  Stern  von  Sieg  zu  Siege  f iilirte, 
Doch  fiihlt  ich  nie,  wie  sich's  fiir  Dich  gebiihrte, 
Das  Herz  so  ganz  von  Lieb  und  Stolz  durchdrungen. 

Einst  sah  ich  in  der  Jugend  schonen  Hiillung 
In  Dir  die  Zukunft  Deutschlands  sich  entfalten, 
Die  neue  Zeit  erstehen  aus  der  alten  : — 
Heut  stand  vor  mir  die  herrlichste  Erfiillung — 
Ein  deutscher  Fiirst,  das  Aug'  vol  Treu  nnd  Adel, 
Ein  ganzer  Mann,  Held  ohne  Furcht  und  TadeL 


264  Auld  Lang  Syne 

This  was  followed  by  anotlier  sonnet  at  the 
time  of  his  death : — 

DEM  KAISER  FRIEDRTCH— 1888. 

Wir  warteten  im  Stillen  lange  Jahre, 
Und  nimmer  wankte  unsres  Herzens  Glatibe ; 
"Wir  sab'n  im  duuklen  Griin  die  reiche  Traube, 
Und  wussten,  welchen  Saft  sie  uns  bewahre. 

Und  jetzt !     O  klaget  nicht  an  seiner  Bahre, 
"Wenn  aucli  der  Leib  zerfallt  zum  Erdenstaube, 
Nie  werde  das  dem  blinden  Tod  zum  Raube, 
Was  er  gewollt  das  Hohe,  Schone,  Wahie ! 

Dem  edlen  Geiste  woll'n  wir  Treue  halten, 
In  stillem  Dulden  wie  in  kiihnem  Wagen  ; 
"Wir  ehren  ihn  durch  Thaten,  nicht  durch  Klagen, 
Und  lassen  unsre  Liebe  nie  erkalten  : 
Was  wir  verloren,  kann  keiu  Blick  ermessen, 
Was  wir  gehabt,  das  bleibe  ixnvergessen. 

The  old  Emperor  was  at  Ems  at  the  same  time, 
and  so  was  the  Emperor  Alexander  of  Russia.  It 
was  a  surprise  to  me  to  see  these  two  Emperors 
walking  together  in  the  crowd,  and  fetching  their 
glass  of  water  at  the  spring,  apparently  without 
any  protection.  The  people  did  not  much  crowd 
round  them,  but  neither  were  they  kept  back  by  the 
police  officers.  I  asked  one  of  the  higher  officials 
how  they  managed  to  keep  out  any  dangerous  Poles 


Recollections  of  Royalties  26^ 

or  Frenchmen,  who  might  have  shot  the  two  Em- 
perors with  a  double-barrelled  pistol  at  any  moment. 
The  place  was  swarming  with  people  of  every 
nationality ;  but  he  said  that  there  was  no  one  at 
Ems  who  was  not  known.  I  confess  it  was  a  riddle 
to  me.  The  good  old  Emperor,  who  had  heard  of 
my  presence,  asked  me  to  dine,  and  he  also  thanked 
me  for  my  advocacy  of  Germany  in  The  Times. 
What  a  change  since  I  ran  against  him  in  Bunsen's 
room!  Abeken,  who  dui'iug  the  war  had  been 
Bismarck's  right  hand,  was  there,  and  I  learnt  from 
him  that  the  famous  Ems  telegram  had  been  written 
by  him,  though,  of  course,  inspired  and  approved  of 
by  Bismarck.  This  is  now  well  known,  and  has 
become  ancient  history.  Great  as  was  the  enthusi- 
asm at  Ems,  it  was  heart-breaking  to  see  the  in- 
valided soldiers,  looking  young  and  vigorous,  but 
without  arms  or  legs,  their  only  wish  being  to  catch 
a  glimpse  of  the  Emperor  or  the  Crown  Prince. 
Some  of  them  had  been  blinded  in  the  war ;  others 
walked  about  on  crutches,  some  with  both  arms  cut 
off,  and  using  iron  forks  instead  of  hands  and  fingers. 
All  was  done  that  could  be  done  for  them,  and  the 
Emperor  and  the  Crown  Prince  shook  hands  with 
as  many  of  them,  officers  or  privates,  as  they  could. 
The  Crown  Prince  had  sent  me  word  that  he  wished 
to  see  me  once  more  ;  but  his  surroundings  evidently 
thought  that  I  had  been  favoured  quite  enough,  and 


266  Auld  Lang  Syne 

oar  meeting  again  was  cleverly  prevented.  No  doubt 
princes  must  be  protected  against  intruders,  but 
should  tliey  be  thwarted  in  their  own  wishes  ?  I 
had  another  happy  glimpse,  however,  of  the  Crown 
Prince  in  his  family  circle,  in  1876. 

In  the  year  1879  the  Crown  Prince  came  once 
more  to  Oxford,  this  time  with  his  young  son,  the 
present  German  Emperor,  and  accompanied  by 
the  Prince  of  Wales.  He  had  not  forgotten  his 
former  visit,  when  he  was  not  much  older  than  his 
son  was  then,  and  he  reminded  me  of  what  had 
happened  to  us  in  the  Examination  Schools  on  his 
former  visit.  The  Prince  had  preserved  the  strict- 
est incognito,  but  when  we  entered  the  schools  his 
appearance,  and  that  of  several  foreign-looking 
gentlemen,  had  attracted  some  attention.  How- 
ever, we  sat  down  and  listened  to  the  exami- 
nation. It  was  in  Divinity,  and  one  of  the  young 
men  had  to  translate  a  chapter  in  the  Gospel  of 
St.  John.  He  translated  very  badly,  and  the 
Prince,  not  accustomed  to  the  English  pronuncia- 
tion of  Greek,  could  not  follow.  Suddenly  there 
was  a  burst  of  laughter.  The  Prince  did  not  per- 
ceive that  it  was  due  to  a  really  atrocious  mis- 
translation. He  turned  to  me  and  said  :  "  Let  us 
go ;  they  are  laughing  at  us."  When  we  were 
outside  I  explained  to  him  what  had  happened ; 
but  it  was  really  so  bad  that  I  must  not  repeat  it 


Recollections  of  Royalties  267 

here.     The   passage  was  St.  John,  iv.,  9  :    Aiyet 
ovv  avrtp  rj  jwrj  t)  'XaiiapetTL'i. 

The  young  Prince,  the  present  Emperor,  who 
was  with  his  father,  was  very  much  pleased  with 
what  he  saw  of  Oxford,  of  the  river,  and  of  the  life 
of  the  young  men.  Ho  would  have  liked  to  spend 
a  term  or  two  at  Oxford,  but  there  were  objections. 
Fears  of  English  influence  had  begun  to  show 
themselves  at  Berlin.  Several  young  ladies  tried 
their  powers  of  persuasion  on  the  young  Prince, 
who  told  me  at  the  time,  in  true  academic  German, 
"  In  all  my  life  I  have  not  been  canvassed  so 
much  "  (In  meinem  Leben  bin  ich  noch  nicht  so 
gekeilt  worden). 

It  is  well  known  how  warm  an  interest  the 
young  Prince,  now  the  German  Emperor,  has  al- 
ways taken  in  the  success  of  Oxford,  and  for  how 
many  years  he  has  always  sent  his  congratulations 
by  telegram  to  the  successful,  and  now  almost 
charmed,  Oxford  crew. 

When  the  Crown  Prince  with  his  son  and  the 
Prince  of  Wales  honom-ed  my  College  (All  Souls') 
with  their  presence  at  luncheon,  I  remember  pre- 
senting to  them  three  tumblers  of  the  old  ale  that 
is  brewed  in  the  College,  and  is  supposed  to  bo 
the  best  in  the  University,  very  drinkable  (siifiig), 
but  very  strong.  One  year  when  several  men  from 
Cambridge  were   passing   their  long  vacation  at 


268  Auld  Lang  Syne 

Oxford  (one  of  them  was  Liglitfoot,  afterwards 
Bishop  of  Durham,  another  Augustus  Vansittart), 
they  were  made  free  of  all  the  common-rooms  at 
Oxford,  and  constituted  examiners  of  the  beers 
brewed  in  the  different  Colleges.  All  Souls'  came 
out  at  the  head  of  the  tripos,  but  there  was  to  be  a 
new  examination  in  the  year  following,  and  com- 
petitors were  invited  to  send  their  essays  to  F.  M. 
M.,  Professor  of  Comparative  Palealeontology,  at 
All  Souls'.  I  took  a  tumbler  of  the  old  ale  myself 
and  drank  to  the  health  of  "  The  three  Emperors." 
The  Crown  Prince  did  not  see  what  I  meant,  and 
asked  again  and  again,  "  But  how  so  (Wie  so)  ?  '* 
"  The  future  German  Emperor,"  I  said,  "  the  fut- 
ure Emperor  of  India  (the  Prince  of  Wales),  and, 
in  the  very  distant  future,  the  third  Emperor  of 
Germany."  The  Crown  Prince  smiled,  but  an  ex- 
pression of  seriousness  or  displeasure  passed  over 
his  face,  showing  me  that  I  touched  a  sensitive 
nerve.  The  Crown  Prince  was  a  curious  mixture. 
In  his  intercourse  with  his  friends  he  liked  to  for- 
get that  he  was  a  Prince,  he  spoke  most  freely  and 
unguardedly,  and  enjoyed  a  good  laugh  about  a 
good  joke.  He  allowed  his  friends  to  do  the  same, 
but  suddenly,  if  any  of  his  friends  made  a  remark 
that  did  not  quite  please  him,  he  drew  back,  and 
it  took  him  some  time  to  recover  himself.  He  was 
a  noble  and  loyal  nature.     He  knew  Bismarck,  he 


Recollections  of  Royalties  269 

knew  his  strong,  and  he  knew  his  very  weak,  and 
more  than  weak,  points ;  but  such  was  his  grati- 
tude for  what  the  old  statesman  had  done  for 
Prussia  and  Germany  that  he  never  said  an  un- 
kind word  against  him.  I  believe  he  would  never 
have  parted  with  him,  though  he  was  quite  aware 
of  the  danger  of  a  major  domus  in  the  kingdom  of 
Frederick  the  Great.  History  v/ill  have  much  to 
say  about  those  years,  and  will  teach  us  once  more 
the  old  lesson — how  small  the  great  ones  of  the 
earth  can  be. 

Once  more  I  met  the  Prince  at  Venice,  when  he 
was  enjoying  himself  with  the  Crown  Princess  and 
some  of  his  daughters.  He  was  then  incognito, 
and  he  had  the  best  cicerone  in  his  learned  and 
charming  wife.  They  worked  hard  together  from 
morning  till  evening.  At  last  the  people  of  Venice 
found  out  who  he  was,  and  crowded  round  him  to 
that  extent  that  he  had  to  take  refuge  in  the  royal 
palace.  What  struck  me  at  the  time  was  a  sad- 
ness and  far  greater  reticence  in  the  Prince.  Still, 
at  times,  the  old  joyous  smile  broke  out,  as  if  he 
had  forgotten  how  serious  life  had  become  to  him. 

Again  some  years  passed.  The  accounts  of  the 
old  Emperor's  health  showed  that  his  end  was 
drawing  near,  but  at  the  same  time  began  the  dis- 
quieting rumors  about  the  Crown  Prince's  health. 
The  Prince  sent  for  me  shortly  after  his  arrival 


270  Auld  Lang  Syne 

in  London,  where  he  had  come  for  the  Queen's 
Jubilee,  1887.  He  looked  as  grand  as  ever,  and 
in  his  eyes  there  was  the  same  light  and  life  and 
love,  but  his  voice  had  become  almost  a  whisper. 
Nevertheless,  he  spoke  hopefully,  almost  confi- 
dently, and  went  tlirough  all  the  festivities  like  a 
hero.  Who  will  ever  forget  him  on  horseback  in 
the  white  uniform  of  the  Prussian  Cuirassiers,  in 
the  midst  of  the  sons  and  sons-in-law  of  the 
Queen?  I  saw  him  once  more  at  Windsor,  the 
day  before  he  left  for  Germany.  In  the  evening, 
after  dinner,  he  walked  up  to  me  and  spoke  to 
me  for  a  long  time.  His  voice  had  regained  its 
timbre,  and  I  felt  convinced  like  himseK  that  the 
downward  course  of  his  malady  was  over,  and  that 
the  uphill  work  was  now  to  begin. 

After  he  had  spoken  to  me  for  nearly  half  an 
houi',  one  of  his  aides-de-camp  came  up  to  him, 
and  said :  "  Not  another  word,  your  Royal  High- 
ness." He  shook  my  hand:  I  looked  up  to  him 
full  of  hope ;  it  was  for  the  last  time.  He  him- 
self, I  believe,  retained  his  hopefulness  to  the 
very  end.  The  Greeks  said :  "  Those  whom  the 
gods  love  die  young."  When  the  Prince  Consort 
died,  and  when  the  Emperor  Frederick  died,  one 
felt  inclined  to  say :  "  Those  whom  all  men  love 
die  young."  Five  reigns  have  thus  passed  before 
my  eyes,  those  of  Frederick  William  III.,  1797- 


Recollections  of  Royalties  271 

1840;  Frederick  William  IV.,  1840-1861;  Wil- 
lielm  I.,  1861-1888;  Frederick  IIL,  1888;  WU- 
helm  II.,  1888 ;  and  if  tliere  is  one  lesson  which 
their  history  teaches  us,  and  which  everybody 
should  take  to  heart,  it  is  that  the  wonderful  work 
which  they  have  achieved  is  due  to  the  hard  work, 
the  determined  purpose,  and  the  persevering  in- 
dustry of  these  sovereigns.  I  did  not  know  much 
of  the  personal  work  of  Frederick  William  III., 
but,  beginning  with  Frederick  William  IV.  to  the 
present  Emperor,  I  have  had  occasional  glimpses 
of  their  private  life,  enough  to  show  that  none  of 
these  men  looked  upon  his  place  in  life  as  a  sine- 
cure. In  no  case  was  their  throne  an  easy  chair. 
Their  bed  was  in  very  truth  a  bed  of  iron,  not  a 
bed  of  roses.  These  sovereigns  have  been  at 
work  day  and  night ;  they  have  shared  not  only 
ill  the  triumphs,  but  in  the  privations  and  suffer- 
ings of  their  army.  I  shall  never  forget,  when  I 
was  at  Ems  in  1871,  passing  the  house  where  the 
old  Emperor  resided  ;  and  there  in  the  first  storey, 
behind  a  green  curtain,  one  could  clearly  see  him 
stctiivlmg,  at  his  desk,  with  a  lamp  by  his  side, 
reading  and  signing  despatches,  while  everybody 
else  enjoyed  the  cool  aii-  of  the  evening,  nay,  long 
after  most  people  had  gone  to  bed.  The  Emperor 
Frederick,  before  he  was  Emperor,  was  unhappy 
about  one  thing  only,  that  he  had  not  work  enough 


272  Auld  Lang  Syne 

to  do,  and  if  there  is  a  sovereign  indefatigable  in 
the  service  of  his  country  it  is  surely  the  present 
King  of  Prussia,  the  German  Emperor.  I  must 
say  no  more,  for  I  have  made  it  a  rule  in  these 
Eecollections  not  to  say  anything  about  living 
persons,  least  of  all  royalties.  Besides,  through 
all  my  life  I  have  tried  to  follow  the  rule  that 
Kuskin  lays  down  for  himself:  "  In  every  person 
who  comes  near  you  look  for  what  is  good  and 
strong;  honour  that;  rejoice  in  it,  and,  as  you 
can,  try  to  imitate  it." 

Though  I  did  not  see  much  of  Prince  Albert— I 
am  thinking  of  the  time  when  he  was  still  called 
Prince  Albert,  and  not  yet  the  Prince  Consort— 
I  heard  much  about  him,  partly  from  Bunsen, 
who  admired  him  greatly,  partly  through  one  of 
his  private  secretaries,  my  old  friend  Dr.  Karl 
Meyer.*     By  this  time  the  world  knows  not  only 

*  Dr.  Meyer  was  a  most  interesting  character.  He  had  been 
for  years  in  Bunsen's  house,  formerly  private  secretary  to 
Schelling,  the  philosopher.  He  was  a  poet  and  a  scholar,  very 
strong  in  "Welsh,  having  spent  many  years  travelling  about  in 
Wales.  He  certainly  was  not  cut  out  for  life  at  court.  After 
leaving  England  he  spent  the  last  years  of  his  life  as  reader  to 
the  old  Emperor  of  Germany ;  a  most  faithful  soul,  and  full  of 
varied  information.  Some  of  his  occasional  poems  were  beauti- 
ful, his  "  Bellone  Orientalis  "  a  masterwork ;  but  they  are  all  for- 
gotten now.  Dr.  Meyer  was  devoted  to  the  Prince,  and  much 
that  the  world  does  not  know  of  him,  and  never  will  know,  I 
learnt  at  the  time  from  Dr.  Meyer. 


Recollections  of  Royalties  273 

the  nobilty  of  the  Prince's  character,  but  the 
strength  of  his  intellect,  his  unceasing  industry, 
and  his  loyal  devotion  to  his  queen  and  country. 
But  there  was  a  time  when  those  who  knew  him 
felt  indignant,  nay,  furious,  at  the  treatment  which 
he  received  in  England.  It  would  be  well  if  that 
page  could  be  torn  out  of  the  history  of  England, 
and  as  she  who  suffered  most  has  long  forgiven,  if 
not  forgotten,  who  has  a  right  to  renovare  dolores  ? 
Apart  from  all  personal  considerations,  it  seemed 
a  most  extraordinary  hallucination  to  imagine  that 
he  who  was  the  consort  of  the  Queen  should  exer- 
cise no  influence  on  his  wife.  Human  nature  after 
all  is  superior  even  to  the  English  constitution. 
One  can  imagine  a  political  philosopher  indulging 
in  so  Utopian  a  theory  as  a  marriage  without  in- 
fluence, but  that  practical  men,  men  of  the  world, 
men  of  common  sense,  should  have  imagined  such 
a  possibility — that  English  statesmen  should  have 
imagined  that  a  wife,  because  she  was  a  Queen, 
would  never  be  influenced  by  her  husband,  will 
hardly  sound  credible  to  future  historians.  I  re- 
member only  one  analogous  case.  When  Lord 
John  Eussell  was  proposed  as  Secretary  for  For- 
eign Affairs,  several  members  of  the  Cabinet  ob- 
jected, fearing  Lady  Kussell's  influence,  and  point- 
ing out  the  danger  of  Cabinet  secrets  oozing  out 
through  her  indiscretion.  Lord  Palmerston  lis- 
18 


274  Auld  Lang  Syne 

tened  for  a  long  time,  and  then  turned  to  his  col- 
leagues and  said:  "Well,  I  see  one  remedy  only — 
one  of  us  must  always  sleep  with  them."  When 
he  saw  blank  consternation  on  the  faces  of  his 
colleagues,  "  Well,  well,"  he  said,  "  we  shall  take 
it  by  turns."  At  a  time  when  it  was  fully  believed 
that  Prince  Albert  had  been  taken  to  the  Tower 
for  high  treason,  no  wonder  that  even  a  young 
German  student  who  spent  his  days  in  the  Bod- 
leian Library  should  have  been  attacked  as  a  spy. 
It  was  a  passing  madness,  and  the  wonder  is  that 
it  passed  without  more  serious  consequences. 

Prince  Albert  took  a  most  lively  interest  in  a 
scheme  which  I  had  strongly  advocated  in  The 
Times  and  elsewhere,  namely,  that  there  should  be 
a  school  of  Oriental  languages  in  England,  as  in 
every  other  country  that  has  political  and  commer- 
cial relations  with  the  East.  I  pointed  out  that 
for  years  France  had  maintained  its  &ole  des 
Langues  Orientales  vivantes ;  that  Austria  had  its 
Oriental  School  for  the  diplomatic  service  and  for 
the  education  of  official  interpreters ;  that,  long 
before  the  Afghan  disaster,  there  was  a  professor 
teaching  the  Afghan  language  in  the  University  of 
St.  Petersburg  (and,  I  may  add  now,  that  Prussia 
has  a  flourishing  Oriental  seminary  in  which  even 
African  languages  are  taught  by  professors  and 
native  teachers) ;  but  no  one  would  listen  to  me 


Recollections  of  Royalties  275 

except  Prince  Albert.  The  diflferent  offices,  For- 
eign Office,  Horse  Guards,  Colonial  Office,  etc., 
declared  that  interpreters  could  always  be  had, 
and  that  the  best  way  to  secure  their  fidelity  was 
to  pay  them  well.  That  others  might  pay  them 
better  seemed  never  to  have  entered  their  minds. 
Prince  Albert  saw  clearly  the  disadvantage  under 
which  England  was  labouring,  nay,  the  danger  that 
threatened  her  trade  and  her  general  influence  in 
the  East.  He  spoke  to  Lord  Granville,  and  Lord 
Granville  wrote  to  me  to  make  further  proposals. 
This  I  did ;  but  beyond  that  I  decided  I  would  not 
go,  for  such  was  the  feeling  at  that  time,  that  the 
name  of  Prince  Albert  and  my  own,  as  that  of  a 
German  scholar,  would  have  been  sufficient  to 
wreck  the  whole  scheme.  I  remember  writing  at 
the  time  to  Prince  Albert  that  we  must  wait  till 
*'  Her  Majesty,  Public  Opinion,  became  more  fa- 
vourable." In  the  meantime,  to  speak  of  commer- 
cial interests  only,  how  much  has  England  lost 
by  her  unwillingness  to  incur  an  expense  which 
other  countries  have  readily  incurred,  which  the 
people  of  England  have  a  right  to  demand,  and 
which  would  not  have  amounted  to  anything  like 
the  cost  of  a  single  man-of-war !  The  Prince  of 
Wales  took  the  same  warm  interest  in  the  founda- 
tion of  an  Oriental  school  in  London,  as  may  be 
seen  from  the  speech  he  delivered  at  the  Royal 


276  Auld  Lang  Syne 

Institution  in  1890,  when  the  scheme  of  a  school 
of  Oriental  languages  was  taken  up  by  the  Impe- 
rial Institute,  but  even  his  persuasive  eloquence 
has  hitherto  proved  ineffectual  to  realise  a  wish 
that  was  so  near  his  father's  heart,  and  of  such 
enormous  importance  to  English  interests  in  the 
East. 

As  I  think  it  right  to  abstain  from  recording  my 
recollections  of  royal  persons  still  alive,  I  must  say 
nothing  of  the  stay  of  the  young  Prince  of  Wales 
at  Oxford ;  but,  among  the  many  things  which  I 
treasure  in  my  memory,  I  may  at  least  produce 
one  small  treasure,  a  sixpence,  which  I  won  from 
His  Royal  Highness  at  whist.  I  have  always 
been  a  very  bad  whist  player,  but  good  luck  would 
have  it  that  I  won  a  sixpence  at  Ere  wen  Hall,  the 
Prince's  residence  at  Oxford.  The  Prince  main- 
tained that  I  had  calculated  my  points  Avrongly, 
but  not  being  a  courtier,  I  held  my  own,  and  act- 
ually appealed  to  General  Bruce.  When  he  de- 
cided in  my  favour,  the  Prince  graciously  handed 
me  my  sixpence,  which  I  have  kept  ever  since 
among  my  treasures.  I  may  speak  more  fully  of 
Prince  Leopold,  the  late  Duke  of  Albany,  a  deeply 
interesting  character  of  whom  much  was  expected, 
and  in  whom  much  has  been  lost.  He  was  often  a 
great  sufferer  while  at  Oxford,  but  when  he  was 
well,  no  one  was  so  well  as  he  was,  no  one  looked 


Recollections  of  Royalties  277 

more  brilliant  or  more  yigorous.  His  little  din- 
ner parties  were  charming.  His  tutor,  Mr.  (now 
Sir)  R.  Collins,  knew  how  to  collect  his  guests,  and 
the  Prince  was  the  most  excellent  host.  When- 
ever I  had  some  distinguished  man  staying  with 
me,  a  note  was  sure  to  come  from  the  Prince,  ask- 
ing whether  he  might  invite  Emerson  or  Froude, 
or  whoever  it  might  be,  and  I  well  remember  his 
adding:  "You  may  tell  Mr.  Froude  that  I  have 
read  the  whole  of  his  '  History.' "  And  so  he  had. 
Being  often  confined  to  his  bed  he  had  read  a 
great  deal,  and  was  read  to  by  his  devoted  tutor. 
Sir  R.  Collins.  How  many  fond  hopes  centred  in 
that  life,  and  how  anxious  many  of  the  best  men 
that  Oxford  has  produced  were  to  inspire  him  with 
a  love  each  of  his  own  subject.  Sanskrit,  I  soon 
perceived,  had  no  chance.  But  for  a  time  astron- 
omy was  in  the  ascendant,  then  history,  then  art. 
But  there  was  always  the  danger  to  be  guarded 
against  of  the  young  student  becoming  too  much 
absorbed  in  any  one  subject,  and  losing  that  gene- 
ral sympathy  with  learning  and  art  which  is  so 
desirable  in  a  Prince.  The  Prince  had  a  quick 
eye  for  small  weaknesses,  but  his  kindness  was 
likewise  extreme.  I  so  well  remember  sitting  by 
him  at  dinner,  and  enjoying  the  most  exquisite 
real  Johannisberger  from  the  royal  cellar.  Prince 
Metternich  used  to  send  every  year  some  of  the 


278  Auld  Lang  Syne 

best  of  his  crue  to  the  royalties  represented  at  the 
Congress  of  Vienna,  having  received  Johannisberg 
from  that  Congress.  Prince  Leopold  knew  how  to 
appreciate  the  wines  sent  him  from  the  royal  cellar. 
"They  like  port  better  at  Oxford,"  he  said  to  me, 
*'  but  we  shall  keep  to  the  Bheimoein."  It  was 
really  a  quite  exceptional  wine,  the  aroma  of  it 
being  perceptible  even  at  the  dinner-table.  I 
quoted  some  of  my  father's  drinking  songs,  "  Das 
Essen,  nicht  das  Trinken,  bracht'  uns  urn's  Para- 
dies,"  etc.  Many  delightful  evenings  were  thus 
spent  in  the  Prince's  drawing-room.  I  often 
played  a  quatre  mains  with  him,  fearing  only  to 
touch  and  hurt  his  fingers,  which  was  always  most 
painful  to  him.  But  to  return  to  the  Johannis- 
berger.  Long  after  the  Prince  had  settled  at 
Boytou,  I  was  staying  with  him,  and  at  dinner  he 
said :  "  Now  we  must  drink  the  health  of  the 
Princess  of  Wales ;  it  is  her  birthday.  I  have  one 
bottle  left  of  the  Oxford  Rheinwein.  I  kept  it  for 
you.  It  has  travelled  about  with  me  from  place 
to  place ;  but  there  will  be  no  more  of  it,  it  is  the 
last  bottle." 

Once  more  the  Prince  was  most  kind  to  me  un- 
der most  trying  circumstances.  I  was  to  dine  at 
Windsor,  and  when  I  arrived  my  portmanteau  was 
lost.  I  telegraphed  and  telegraphed,  and  at  last 
the  portmanteau  was  found  at  Oxford  station,  but 


Recollections  of  Royalties  279 

there  was  no  train  to  arrive  at  Windsor  before  8.30. 
Prince  Leopold,  who  was  staying  at  Windsor,  and 
to  whom  I  went  in  my  distress,  took  the  matter  in 
a  most  serious  spirit.  I  thought  I  might  send  an 
excuse  to  say  that  I  had  had  an  accident  and  could 
not  appear  at  table  ;  but  he  said :  "  No,  that  is  im- 
possible. If  the  Queen  asks  you  to  dinner,  you 
must  be  there. "  He  then  sent  all  round  the  Castle  to 
fit  me  out.  Everybody  seemed  to  have  contributed 
some  article  of  clothing — coat,  waistcoat,  tie,  shorts, 
shoes  and  buckles.  I  looked  a  perfect  guy,  and  I 
declared  that  I  could  not  possibly  appear  before  the 
Queen  in  that  attire.  I  was  actually  penning  a  note 
when  the  8.30  train  arrived,  and  with  it  my  luggage, 
which  I  tore  open,  dressed  in  a  few  minutes,  and 
appeared  at  dinner  as  if  nothing  had  happened. 

Fortunately  the  Queen,  who  had  been  paying  a 
visit,  came  in  very  late.  Whether  she  had  heard 
of  my  misfortunes  I  do  not  know.  But  I  was  very 
much  impressed  when  I  saw  how,  with  all  the  de- 
^'^tion  that  the  Prince  felt  for  his  mother,  there 
was  .  '^  feeling  of  respect,  nay,  almost  of  awe,  that 
made  it  seem  impossible  for  him  to  tell  his  own 
mother  that  I  was  prevented  by  an  accident  from 
obeying  her  command  and  appearing  at  dinner. 

Oxford  is  an  excellent  place  for  seeing  illustrious 
visitors  from  all  parts  of  the  world.  It  is  the  cyno- 
sure' ^f  all  Americans,  and  it  is  strange  to  see  how 


28o  Auld  Lang  Syne 

many  travellers  know  all  about  the  beauties  of  Ox- 
ford, and  seem  often  to  be  quite  unaware  of  the 
similar,  nay,  in  some  respects  greater,  beauties  of 
Cambridge.  There  is  only  one  drawback.  Most 
travellers  come  to  Oxford  during  the  Long  Vaca- 
tion, and  during  the  Long  Vacation  most  professors 
naturally  go  away.  In  that  way  I  have  missed  see- 
ing some  people  whose  acquaintance  I  should  have 
highly  valued.  I  thus  lost  the  pleasure  of  showing 
the  late  Emperor  of  Brazil  the  historical  sights  of 
Oxford,  being  absent  when  he  passed  through. 
He  saw  everything  in  a  marvellously  short  time, 
but  then  he  was  up  sight-seeing  at  five  in  the  morn- 
ing. However,  I  made  his  acquaintance  afterwards 
in  Switzerland.  We  were  staying  at  an  out-of-the- 
way  place  at  Gimmelwald,  and  one  day  about  five 
in  the  morning  there  was  a  loud  knock  at  my  bed- 
room door.  The  whole  wooden  cottage  trembled. 
When  I  got  up  to  see  what  was  the  matter,  I  saw  my 
friend  Mr.  Ralston,  standing  breathless  on  the  stair- 
case and  saying,  "  The  Emperor  of  Brazil  wants  to 
see  you.  He  is  staying  at  Interlaken,  and  has  per- 
suaded the  Empress  to  stay  another  day  to  see  you. 
But  you  must  get  up  at  once  and  take  a  carriage 
and  drive  to  Interlaken."  I  did  so,  and  was  with 
the  Emperor  and  Empress  soon  after  breakfast. 
The  Empress  and  the  gentlemen-in-waiting  were 
not  in  the  best  of  humours  on  account  of  this  un- 


Recollections  of  Royalties  281 

expected  delay  in  tlieir  journey.  We  had  a  long 
and  undisturbed  talk  in  a  private  room.  I  was 
sorry  the  Emperor  would  speak  French,  though, 
having  been  at  school  in  Switzerland,  he  spoke 
German  quite  as  well.  He  was  full  of  questions 
about  Sanskrit  literature  and  the  Vedic  religion.  I 
was  amazed  at  his  knowledge,  for  he  had  actually 
begun  to  study  Sanskrit,  and  was  fully  aware  of  all 
the  difficulties  that  had  to  be  met  before  we  could 
hope  to  gain  an  insight  into  the  heart  of  the  ancient 
religion  of  the  Vedic  Rishis.  He  had  a  young 
German  with  him  who  acted  as  his  tutor  in  San- 
skrit, and  likewise  in  Hebrew.  It  was  very  pleasant 
to  be  examined  by  a  man  who  really  knew  what 
questions  to  ask,  and  who  was  bent  on  finding  out 
by  himself  what  the  "  Rig  Veda,"  the  most  ancient 
of  all  the  books  in  the  world,  really  contained.  Like 
many  others  he  seemed  to  expect  too  much,  and  I 
had  to  tell  him  he  must  not  be  disappointed,  and 
that,  though  the  Veda  was  certainly  the  oldest  book 
in  the  proper  sense  of  that  word,  which  had  been 
preserved  to  us  in  an  almost  miraculous  manner, 
still  it  bore  already  traces  of  a  long  growth,  nay, 
even  of  a  long  decay  of  religious  thought.  If  the 
Vedic  poets  were  different  from  what  we  expected 
them  to  be,  it  was  our  fault,  not  theirs.  They 
showed  us  what  the  world  was  like  in  the  second 
millennium  B.C.,  and  if  we  thought  that  there  was 


282  Auld  Lang  Syne 

in  that  millennium  mucli  that  sounds  childish  and 
absm'd  to  us,  it  was  well  that  we  should  know  that 
fact,  and  talk  no  longer  of  the  mysterious  or  esoteric 
wisdom  of  the  East.  Like  most  students,  the  Em- 
peror wished  to  know  the  exact  date  of  the  Veda, 
and  I  did  not  find  it  easy  to  explain  to  him  that 
where  we  have  no  contemporaneous  history  we  can- 
not expect  an  exact  chronology.  If  some  scholars 
placed  the  Veda  5000  or  10,000  B.C.,  we  should  find 
it  difficult  to  refute  them,  but  we  should  gain  noth- 
ing, it  would  be  like  one  of  the  distant  dates  in 
Egyptian  and  Babylonian  chronology,  a  mere  point 
in  vacuo.  He  was  surprised  when  I  confessed  to 
him  that  even  the  low  date  of  about  1200  B.C.,  which 
I  had  fixed  upon,  seemed  to  me  too  high  rather  than 
too  low,  and  that  I  should  feel  it  a  relief  if  anybody 
could  establish  a  lower  date  for  at  least  some  of  the 
Vedic  hymns.  I  think  the  Emperor  saw  that  in 
spitoof  this  inevitable  uncertainty,  the  "  Rig  Veda  " 
would  always  maintain  its  unique  position  in  the 
history  of  religion,  nay,  of  literatm-e,  being  without 
an  equal  anywhere,  and  allowing  us  an  insight  into 
the  growth  of  thought,  such  as  we  find  in  no  other 
literature.  Whatever  the  antecedents  of  the  Vedic 
religion  may  have  been,  however  rudely  its  original 
features  may  have  been  effaced  even  before  the  be- 
ginning 0*  the  Brahma?ia  period,  we  can  still  see 
here  and  there  in  the  Veda  some  germ  ideas,  some 


Recollections  of  Royalties  283 

thouglits  requiring  no  antecedents,  and  in  that  sense 
primitive,  more  primitive  even  than  the  thoughts 
of  Egypt,  Babylon,  and  Nineveh,  whatever  their 
merely  chronological  antiquity  may  have  been.  I 
do  not  know  how  it  happened — that  from  discussing 
the  ancient  names  of  metals  and  the  relative  value 
of  gold  and  silver,  as  fixed,  we  do  not  know  how, 
in  Egypt,  Babylon,  and  afterwards  in  Greece,  in 
Italy,  and  the  rest  of  the  civilised  world  at  about 
1  to  15 — our  conversation  drifted  away  into  finan- 
cial questions.  Here  I  must  have  been  betrayed 
into  uttering  some  financial  heresy,  possibly  sa- 
vouring of  bimetallism,  for  I  well  remember  the  Em- 
peror becoming  rather  impatient  and  saying  :  "  I 
know  all  about  that,  and  have  studied  the  question 
for  many  years.     Let  us  return  to  the  Veda." 

After  a  very  pleasant  luncheon  wo  parted,  and 
soon  after  the  Emperor  lost  his  crown,  as  some 
would  have  it,  because  he  had  given  too  much 
thought  and  time  to  his  studies  instead  of  keeping 
in  touch  with  the  leaders  of  the  different  parties 
around  his  throne.  However  that  may  be,  Brazil 
has  not  been  long  before  regretting  her  learned 
Emperor.  I  heard  afterwards  that  to  the  very  end 
of  his  reign,  and  even  when  in  exile,  the  Emperor 
kept  his  tutor  and  carried  on  his  studies  in  San- 
skrit and  Hebrew.  When  at  Stockholm  in  1889,  at- 
tending the  International  Oriental  Congress,  under 


284  Auld  Lang  Syne 

the  auspices  of  the  King  of  Sweden,  I  receiyed  a 
letter  from  the  Emperor  of  Brazil  giving  an  ac- 
count of  his  Sanski'it  studies.  I  showed  the  letter 
to  the  King  of  Sweden,  Oscar  II.,  himself  a  man 
extremely  well  informed  on  Eastern  literature,  and 
full  of  the  warmest  sympathy  for  Oriental  scholars 
and  scholarship.  He  read  the  letter  and  sighed. 
"  I  have  no  leisure  for  Sanskrit,"  he  said.  "  The 
happy  Emperor  of  Brazil  has  but  one  people  to 
govern,  I  have  two." 

I  might  go  on  for  a  long  time  with  my  royal 
recollections,  but  it  is,  of  course,  impossible  to  do 
so  when  living  persons  are  concerned.  Most  of 
the  royal  persons  with  whom  I  was  brought  into 
contact  were  eminent  among  their  peers,  but  were 
I  to  say  what  I  think  of  them,  I  should  at  once  be 
called  ugly  names — courtier,  flatterer,  etc.  Such 
things  cannot  be  helped,  and  the  only  excuse  I 
could,  perhaps,  plead  as  a  circonstance  attenuante 
would  be  the  reverence  I  imbibed  -with  my  moth- 
er's milk  for  my  own  Duke  and  my  own  Duchess 
of  Anhalt-Dessau. 

There  is  only  one  more  sovereign  about  whom  I 
may  say  a  few  words,  the  late  Queen  of  Holland, 
highly  gifted  as  she  was,  and  most  charming  in  so- 
ciety. She  frequently  came  to  England ;  according 
to  the  newspapers,  as  a  friend  and  advocate  of  the 
Emperor  Napoleon.     She  was  far  too  wise,  how- 


Recollections  of  Royalties  285 

ever,  to  attempt  to  play  such  a  part  at  the  English 
court.  But  that  she  was  much  admired  and  won 
the  hearts  of  many  people  in  London  is  certainly 
true.  She  came  to  lunch  with  Stanley  at  the  Dean- 
ery. She  had  asked  him  to  invite  a  number  of  lit- 
erary men — Tennyson,  Monckton  Milnes  (Lord 
Houghton),  Huxley,  and  several  more.  We  were 
waiting  and  waiting,  but  Tennyson  did  not  appear. 
Stanley  suggested  that  we  should  not  wait  any 
longer,  but  the  Queen  refused  to  sit  down  before 
the  great  poet's  arrival.  At  last  it  was  suggested 
that  Tennyson  might  be  mooning  about  in  the 
Cloisters,  and  so  he  was.  He  was  caught,  and  was 
placed  next  to  the  Queen.  The  Queen  knew  won- 
derfully how  to  hide  her  Crown,  and  put  everybody 
at  their  ease.  She  took  the  conversation  into  her 
own  hands,  and  kept  the  ball  rolling  during  the 
whole  luncheon.  But  she  got  nothing  out  of  Ten- 
nyson. He  was  evidently  in  low  spirits,  and,  sit- 
ting next  to  him,  I  could  hear  how  to  every  ques- 
tion the  Queen  addressed  to  him  he  answered, 
"Yes,  Ma'am,"  "No,  Ma'am,"  and  at  last,  by  a 
great  e£fort,  "Ma'am,  there  is  a  good  deal  to  be  said 
on  both  sides  of  the  question."  He  then  turned  to 
me  and  said  in  a  whisper,  but  a  loud  whisper :  "  I 
wish  they  had  put  some  of  you  talking  fellows  next 
to  Eegina." 

WhUe  I  am  finishing  these  "  Kecollections  of 


286  Auld  Lang  Syne 

Royalties,"  and  sending  the  proof  sheets  to  press, 
the  last  echoes  of  the  greatest  triumph  that  has 
ever  been  granted  to  royalty,  which  has  ever  been 
celebrated  by  royalty,  are  vanishing  from  our  ears. 
May  those  royal  recollections  never  vanish  from 
our  memories !  "We  need  not,  nay,  we  cannot  ex- 
aggerate their  importance.  Magnificent  as  the 
pageant  has  been  of  the  Diamond  Jubilee  of  the 
Queen  of  England,  what  was  invisible  in  it  was  far 
greater  than  what  was  so  brilliantly  visible  in  the 
royal  procession  passing  through  the  crowded 
streets  of  London.  Has  there  ever  been  an  em- 
pire like  the  British,  not  excluding  the  Babylon- 
ian, the  Persian,  the  Macedonian,  or  the  Roman 
empires  ?  Sixty  years  of  one  reign  is  not  a  mere 
numerical  expression ;  no,  it  means  permanent 
vitality,  unbroken  continuity,  sustained  strength 
and  vigour,  such  as,  I  believe,  have  never  been 
witnessed  in  any  reign  during  the  whole  history 
of  the  world. 

And  England  is  not  only  the  greatest,  it  is  also 
the  freest,  country  in  the  world,  so  free  that  even 
republics  may  well  envy  it  its  fresh  and  pure  air ; 
and  yet  was  there  ever  among  the  vast  masses, 
rich  and  poor,  a  more  universal  outburst  of  hearty 
loyalty  to  the  Throne,  of  personal  love  of  the  sov- 
ereign, than  in  the  days  of  Queen  Victoria's  Jubi- 
lee? 


Recollections  of  Royalties  287 

It  was  said  early  in  her  reign  by  a  royal  and 
loyal  thinker  that  constitutional  government  was 
then  on  its  trial  in  England.  So  it  was,  but  it 
has  come  out  triumphant,  and  stronger  than  ever. 
Constitutional  government  under  a  royal  protector 
will  henceforth  be  recognised  as  the  most  perfect 
form  of  government  which  human  ingenuity  has 
been  able  to  devise,  after  many  centuries  of  patient 
and  impatient  search.  Eoyalty  has  proved  its 
right  to  exist,  and  that  under  the  sceptre  of  a 
Queen  who,  if  compared  to  other  sovereigns,  will 
be  famous  not  only  for  much  that  she  has  done, 
but  also  for  much  that  she  has  not  done.  Consti- 
tutional government  has  proved  its  superiority 
over  any  form  of  government  by  the  triumph  on 
22nd  June. 

If  the  people  have  been  loyal  to  the  Queen,  how 
loyal  has  the  Queen  been  to  her  people  ;  if  her 
subjects  have  shared  her  joys  and  sorrows,  how 
warmly  has  she  taken  the  sufferings  of  her  people 
to  heart.  Royalty  has  its  dangers,  and  mankind 
has  suffered  much  from  kings  and  emperors,  but 
the  greatness  of  England  during  the  last  sixty 
years  has  chiefly  been  due  to  the  mutual  esteem 
and  love  of  her  people  and  their  sovereign.  The 
world  will  know  henceforth  one  at  least  of  the 
secret  springs  of  England's  health  and  wealth  and 
strength  —  namely,  the   true   sympathy  that   for 


288  Auld  Lang  Syne 

years  has  knitted  ruler  and  ruled  together.  Eng- 
land has  had  great  ministers  and  counsellors,  but 
ask  those  ministers,  who  for  years  has  been  their 
truest  and  most  trusted  counsellor,  and  they  will 
not  hesitate  in  their  answer.  No  wonder  that 
England,  celebrating  the  Sixty-years'  Jubilee  of 
her  Sovereign,  should  have  roused  the  admiration 
— and  it  may  be,  the  envy  also — of  other  nations. 
Let  us  hope  that  the  admiration,  so  ungrudgingly 
bestowed,  may  last,  and  that  the  envy,  if  any,  may 
pass  away.  "Viel  Ehr,  viel  Feind"  is  as  true 
here  as  elsewhere.  Let  other  nations  blame  and 
criticise,  it  is  the  highest  compliment  they  can 
pay.  But  let  them  ponder  what  Europe  would 
have  been  without  England,  what  the  world  would 
have  been  without  the  sceptre  of  the  wise  and 
good  Queen  Victoria. 


BEGGARS 

Often  when  I  had  related  to  my  friends  some  of 
my  painful  experiences  with  beggars  and  they 
laughed  at  me,  "  Wait,"  I  said,  "  I  shall  have  my 
revenge  ;  and  when  I  am  unfit  to  do  anything  else, 
I  shall  write  a  book  about  Beggars."  Now  it  has 
sometimes  happened  to  me  of  late  that,  when  I 
had  sat  down  to  do  the  work  to  which  I  have  been 
accustomed  for  so  many  years,  I  could  not  get  on 
at  all,  or  if  by  a  great  effort  of  will  I  managed  to 
do  something,  it  was  of  no  use,  and  had  to  be  done 
again.  I  felt,  therefore,  that  the  time  had  come 
for  rest,  or  at  all  events,  for  a  change  of  occupa- 
tion, and,  though  I  had  not  yet  sufficient  time  to 
spare  for  writing  a  whole  book  on  beggars,  I 
thought  I  might  jot  down  a  few  of  my  experiences, 
not  only  as  an  amusement  to  myself,  but  possibly 
as  a  useful  lesson  to  some  of  my  friends.  It  seems 
to  me  that  my  experience  has  been  large,  larger 
than  that  of  most  of  my  acquaintances.  Why,  I 
cannot  tell ;  but  beggars,  and  extremely  clever 
beggars  too,  have  evidently  singled  me  out  as  an 
easy  prey.  They  seem  to  have  imagined — in  fact 
19  289 


290  Auld  Lang  Syne 

they  told  me  so  again  and  again — that  I  was  a 
rich  man,  and  could  well  afford  to  help  a  poor 
beggar.  Thej  little  knew  what  a  poor  beggar  I 
was  myself,  and  how  hard  I  have  had  to  work 
through  life  to  keep  myself  afloat,  and  to  live  as  I 
was  expected  to  live  among  my  wealthy  colleagues 
at  Oxford.  They  would  have  smiled  incredulously 
if  I  had  told  them  how  many  hours,  nay,  how 
many  weeks,  a  scholar  has  often  to  do  the  hardest 
drudgery  without  getting  a  penny  for  his  work. 
He  has  often  to  be  thankful  if  he  can  find  a  pub- 
lisher for  what  is  the  outcome  of  years  of  hard 
labour.  It  is  schoolbooks  only  that  are  remuner- 
ative, or  novels  and  sermons,  and  novels  he  has  to 
leave  to  his  worldly,  sermons  to  his  unworldly, 
fellow-labourers. 

Some  of  my  beggar  acquaintances  were  so 
clever  and  so  well  educated  that  they  might  easily 
have  made  a  living  for  themselves  ;  but,  as  one  of 
them  told  me  when  I  thought  I  had  made  him 
thoroughly  ashamed  of  himself,  and  quite  confi- 
dential, they  preferred  begging  to  any  other  kind 
of  occupation.  "  Talk  of  shooting  partridges  or 
pheasants,"  he  said,  "  talk  of  racing  or  gambling, 
there  is  no  sport  like  begging.  There  must  always 
be  risk  in  sport,  and  the  risk  in  begging  is  very 
great.  You  are  lighting,"  my  half-penitent  infonn- 
ant   said,    "  against  tremendous  odds.     You  ring 


Beggars  2v^l 

at  the  door,  and  you  must  first  of  all  face  a  ser- 
vant, Avho  generally  scrutinises  you  with  great  sus- 
picion, and  declines  to  take  your  name  or  your 
card,  unless  you  have  a  clean  shirt  and  a  decent 
pair  of  boots.  Then,  after  you  have  been  admitted 
to  the  presence,  you  have  to  watch  every  expres- 
sion of  your  enemy  or  your  friend,  as  the  case  may 
be.  You  have  to  face  the  cleverest  people  in  the 
world,  and  you  know  all  the  time  that  the  slight- 
est mistake  in  your  looks  or  in  the  tone  of  your 
voice  may  lead  to  min.  You  may  be  kicked  out 
of  the  house,  and  if  you  meet  with  a  high-minded 
and  public-spirited  gentleman,  who  does  not  mind 
trouble  and  expense,  you  may  find  yourself  in  the 
hands  of  the  police  for  trying  to  obtain  money  un- 
der false  pretences.  No,"  he  concluded,  "  I  have 
known  in  my  time  what  hunting  and  shooting  and 
gambling  are ;  but  I  assm^e  you  there  is  no  sport 
like  begging." 

What  is  one  to  do  with  such  a  visitor — in  ap- 
pearance, in  manners,  and  in  language,  quite  a 
gentleman,  or  a  ci-devant  gentleman,  a  man  who 
has  been  at  a  university,  and  who,  when  asked, 
will  translate  a  page  of  Homer  to  j^ou  very  fair- 
ly, who  bears,  of  course,  a  noble  name,  and  has 
friends,  as  he  gives  you  to  understand,  in  every 
university  or  at  every  court  in  Europe — what  is 
one  to  do  with  him.,  if  not  to  accelerate  his  depart- 


292  Auld  Lang  Syne 

lire  by  means  of  a  small  gift,  for  which  he  is  gen- 
erally very  grateful  ?  But  that  is  really  the  worst 
one  can  do.  For,  on  the  strength  of  it,  your  noble 
sportsman  will  at  once  go  to  other  covers,  to  all 
your  friends,  tell  them  that  you  have  helped  him, 
describe  your  generosity,  your  room,  your  dog, 
your  cat,  and  thus  among  your  unsuspecting 
friends  secure  a  fresh  bag,  dearer  to  him,  if  you 
may  believe  him,  than  any  number  of  pheasants 
and  partridges. 

The  information  which  these  beggars  possess  is 
quite  astounding.  They  have  stepped  into  my 
room,  and  given  me  the  most  minute  information 
about  my  friends  and  relations  in  Germany,  who 
live  in  a  small  and  b'ttle-known  town,  describing 
their  houses,  their  gardens,  their  dogs — every- 
thing, in  fact,  to  show  that  they  had  been  on  the 
most  familiar  terms  with  them.  This  happened  to 
me  some  years  ago  when  the  organisation  among 
the  foreign  beggars  in  London  was  far  more  per- 
fect than  it  is,  or  seems  to  be,  at  present.  It  may 
be,  of  course,  that  they  know  that  an  old  fox  who 
has  been  hunted  again  and  again  is  difficult  to 
catch.  Anyhow,  I  have  not  of  late  heard  of  any 
such  exploits  as,  unfortunately,  I  have  had  to  suf- 
fer from  in  former  years. 

It  was  after  the  Schleswig-Holstein  war,  in 
about  1850,  that  one  morning  a  young  military- 


Beggars  293 

looking  man  stepped  into  my  room.  He  limped, 
and  told  me  he  had  still  a  ball  in  his  leg,  which 
must  be  removed.  He  presented  himself  as  an 
officer  in  the  Danish  Army — the  only  officer  who 
had  joined  the  rebels,  the  Schleswig-Holsteiners — 
and  had  been  taken  prisoner  at  the  battle  of  Id- 
stedt  in  1850.  He  described  most  graphically 
how  he  was  confronted  with  his  former  Danish 
comrades,  how  his  epaulettes  were  torn  oflf,  how^ 
his  sword  was  broken,  and  he  liimseK  sent  to  a 
military  prison,  previous,  as  he  thought,  to  being 
fusille  for  high  treason.  All  this  naturally  ap- 
pealed to  my  sympathy,  and  then  he  went  on  tell- 
ing me,  in  the  most  confidential  way,  that  when  at 
last  sentence  of  death  had  been  pronounced  against 
him,  he  knew  quite  well  that  it  would  never  be 
carried  out,  because  the  Queen  of  Denmark  was 
his  dearest  friend,  and  would  never  have  allowed 
such  a  thing.  "  Give  me  some  paper,"  he  said ; 
"  I  must  write  to  my  beloved  Queen,  and  tell  her 
I  am  safe  in  England.  She  will  be  in  deep  dis- 
tress till  she  hears  of  me."  He  sat  down  and 
wrote  a  letter,  which  he  wished  me  to  read.  I 
only  saw  the  beginning  of  it:  that  was  quite 
enough ;  it  was  in  a  style  which  only  the  most 
devoted  lover  could  have  used.  That  letter  was 
stamped — I  supplied  the  stamps — dropped  into 
the  pillar-box,  sent  to  Copenhagen,  and  must  have 


294  Auld  Lang  Syne 

been  delivered  to  the  Queen,  though  I  doubt  its 
being  preserved  in  the  royal  archives.  And  that 
was  not  all.  In  a  few  days  a  letter  came  from 
Copenhagen,  delivered  by  post,  which  again  I  w^as 
asked  to  read,  but  declined.  I  did  not  wish  to 
pry  into  State  or  Court  secrets.  But  all  this 
showed,  at  all  events,  how  cleverly  the  whole 
scheme  had  been  laid,  so  that  a  confederate  could 
send  from  Copenhagen  a  letter  apparently  written 
by  the  Queen,  in  answer  to  a  letter  despatched  to 
her  a  few  days  before.  I  was  completely  taken  in. 
The  young  officer  went  to  London  to  have  the  ball 
extracted.  I  doubt  now  whether  there  was  any 
ball  to  extract.  There  he  made  many  acquaint- 
ances, and  was  helped  by  some  very  influential 
people.  I  remember  one,  who  afterwards  rose  to 
the  highest  post  in  our  Diplomatic  Service,  and 
was  at  that  time  known  among  his  friends  as 
never  having  a  five-pound  note  in  his  possession. 
He  gave  him  <£10,  and  when  I  asked  him  :  "  But, 
my  dear  fellow,  where  in  the  world  did  you  get 
that  ten-pound  note  ?  "  he  used,  as  was  his  wont, 
very  strong  language,  and  said :  "  I  borrowed  it 
from  the  porter  at  my  club."  This  little  comedy 
went  on  for  some  time.  The  man  himself  must 
have  enjoyed  his  sport  thoroughly,  and  he  never 
lost  his  presence  of  mind.  I  still  think  that  he 
must  have  been  at  one  time  in  the  Danish  Ser- 


Beggars  295 

vice,  as  lie  possessed  very  accurate  information 
about  Danish  officials  and  Danish  affairs  in  gen- 
eral, though  in  what  capacity  he  served  his  coun- 
try and  his  Queen  has  never  been  found  out.  His 
ostensible  correspondence  with  the  Queen  contin- 
ued for  some  time.  Even  remittances  arrived,  as 
we  were  told  from  his  royal  patroness,  but  most 
of  his  funds  were  drawn,  I  am  sorry  to  say,  from 
English  pockets,  and  might  have  served  some  bet- 
ter pui*pose.  As  far  as  I  remember — for  I  am  try- 
ing to  recall  events  that  hajjpened  nearly  fifty 
years  ago — a  collection  was  made  for  our  clever 
adventiu-er,  and  he  left  England  uninjured  to  look 
for  more  dupes  in  the  United  States. 

Though  I  might  have  learnt  a  lesson,  I  have  to 
confess  that  hardly  a  month  passed  without  some- 
thing of  the  same  kind  hapj)eniug  to  me.  Few 
swindlers  were  so  clever  or  had  their  schemes  so 
beautifully  prepared  as  my  Danish  friend,  but  I 
generally  felt  whenever  I  was  taken  in  that  I  could 
hardly  have  acted  differently.  Nay,  when  I  mus- 
tered courage  to  say  "  No,"  I  often  regretted  it. 
Let  me  give  an  instance.  A  gentleman  steps  into 
your  room,  tells  you  that  he  has  been  robbed, 
offers  you  his  gold  watch,  and  asks  you  to  lend 
him  a  pound  to  pay  his  bill  at  the  hotel.  What 
are  you  to  do  ?  I  declined  to  advance  any  money, 
particularly  as  my  visitor  behaved  rather  like  a 


296  Auld  Lang  Syne 

sturdy  beggar,  and  what  was  the  consequence  ? 
He  broke  out  into  violent  abuse,  mentioned  a 
number  of  newspapers  whose  correspondent  he 
professed  to  be,  and  told  me  I  should  rue  the  day 
when  I  had  insulted  him.  And  it  was  not  a  vain 
threat.  From  time  to  time  I  received  extracts, 
not  indeed  from  The  Times  or  the  Debats  or  the 
Augsburger  Zeitung,  but  from  some  obscure  local 
papers,  with  violent  tirades  against  me  as  an  ig- 
noramus, as  a  Jesuit,  as  a  German  spy,  as  a  hard- 
hearted miser,  etc.  For  all  I  know,  the  man  may 
have  been  in  momentary  distress,  but  was  I  to 
open  a  pawnbroker's  shop  in  my  house  ? 

There  was  a  time,  and  it  lasted  for  several 
years,  when  a  man,  though  he  never  tried  his 
hand  on  me,  victimised  a  large  number  of  my 
friends.  He  called  himself  my  brother,  evidently 
unaware  of  the  fact  that  I  never  had  a  brother. 
He  must  have  taken  the  "  Clergy  List,"  for  week 
after  week  came  letters  from  my  friends,  mostly 
clergymen  in  London  who  had  known  me  at  Ox- 
ford and  who  had  been  swindled  by  my  brother. 

Twice  The  Times  was  kind  enough  to  print  a 
letter  from  me  in  large  type  to  warn  my  friends. 
It  was  of  no  use.  I  seldom  went  to  London 
without  some  friend  coming  up  to  mo  and  asking 
after  my  brother,  or  expressing  himself  thoroughly 
ashamed  of  having  allowed  himself  to  be  so  stu- 


Beggars  297 

pidl}^  victimised  by  a  common  impostor.  One 
friend  told  me  that  he  was  so  convinced  that  the 
man  was  a  swindler  that  he  had  him  turned  out 
of  the  house.  But  then  it  struck  him  that  after 
all  the  man  might  really  be  my  brother,  who  only 
wanted  a  ticket  to  go  to  Oxford,  so  he  rushed  into 
the  street  after  him,  apologised,  and  pressed  a 
sovereign  into  his  hand.  "  There  were  telegraphs 
in  those  days,  and  why  did  you  not  telegraph  to 
me  ?  "  I  said.  But  my  brother  went  on  unabashed. 
He  once  called  at  the  house  of  Lord  W.,  telling 
the  old  story  of  having  been  robbed,  and  wanting 
a  ticket  to  go  to  Oxford  to  see  his  dear  brother. 
Lord  W.  was  not  to  be  taken  in  so  easily,  but 
Lady  "W.,  who  came  into  the  room  and  heard  the 
story,  said  to  the  young  man :  "  Perhaps  you  are 
not  aware  that  you  are  speaking  to  a  very  near 
relation  of  your  brother,  who  is  the  husband  of  my 
niece  ?  "  The  man  never  flinched,  but  Avas  rush- 
ing up  to  Lady  W.  to  shake  hands  most  affection- 
ately and  to  embrace  her,  if  she  had  not  beaten 
a  sudden  retreat.  Lord  W.  was  quite  convinced 
that  the  man  was  an  impudent  beggar,  took  him 
to  the  front  door,  and  told  him  to  be  gone. 
"  Would  you  tell  your  servant  to  call  a  cab  for 
me,"  he  said,  "  to  go  to  the  station  ?  "  A  servant, 
who  was  present,  hailed  a  cab.  "  Please  to  give 
the  man  half  a   crown,"  my  brother  said.     The 


298  Auld  Lang  Syne 

half-crown  was  given,  and  the  man  got  away  un- 
harmed, having  swindled  one  of  the  cleverest 
financial  men  in  London  out  of  half  a  crown. 
Only  a  few  minutes  after,  my  wife  called  at  her 
aunt's  house,  and  regretted  that  she  was  just  too 
late  to  make  the  long-desired  personal  acquaintance 
of  my  lost  brother. 

After  carrying  on  this  business  for  more  than 
two  years  in  England,  and  chiefly  in  London,  the 
place  seems  to  have  become  too  hot  at  last.  He 
vanished  from  the  soil  of  England  without  ever 
having  called  on  his  brother  at  Oxford,  and  the 
next  I  heard  of  him  was  through  some  friends  in 
New  Zealand,  who  had  suffered  as  others  had  suf- 
fered before  in  England. 

The  worst  of  such  experiences  is  that  they  make 
us  very  hard-hearted.  One  believes  nothing  that 
a  man  tells  one  who  comes  begging  to  the  door. 
And  yet  how  much  of  real  misery  there  is  !  It  is 
a  problem  which  really  seems  to  admit  of  no  solu- 
tion. Of  course  we  must  not  expect  angels  to 
come  to  us  in  the  disguise  of  beggars.  All  beg- 
gars are  more  or  less  disreputable ;  not  one  of 
them  would  ventm-e  to  tell  the  true  story  of  his 
life.  Yet  they  generally  have  something  to  say 
for  themselves,  and  they  hardly  know  the  mischief 
they  are  doing  by  making  it  impossible  for  any 
one  with  any  self-respect  to  believe  the  old,  old 


Beggars  299 

stories  which  they  are  telling.  They  say :  "  TS'hat 
can  we  do  ?  "VVe  must  say  something  to  appeal  to 
your  pity,  and  the  unvarnished  tale  of  our  life  is 
too  long  and  too  dry,  and  not  likely  to  excite  your 
sympathy."  All  this  is  true,  but  what  is  to  be 
done  to  alleviate  or  to  cure  this  terrible  evil  of 
poverty  and  beggary?  Nothing  really  seems  to 
remain  but  to  adopt  the  example  of  the  Buddhists, 
and  give  to  the  beggar  a  recognised  status  in 
society.  The  Buddhists  have  no  poor  rates,  but 
whoever  is  admitted  to  the  brotherhood  has  a 
right  to  go  round  the  village  or  town  once  or 
twice  a  day,  to  hold  out  his  begging  bowl,  and  to 
take  home  to  his  monastery  whatever  is  given  him. 
No  householder  likes  these  Bhikshus  or  beggars 
to  depart  from  his  house  without  having  received 
a  gift,  however  small,  while  the  Bhikshu  himself 
is  not  degraded,  but  enjoys,  on  the  contrary,  the 
same  respect  which  the  begging  friars  enjoyed 
during  the  middle  ages.  Even  in  later  times  we 
hear  in  Scotland  of  the  Gaberlunzie  men,  and  else- 
where of  Bedesmen,  Bluegowns,  etc.,  all  forming  a 
kind  of  begging  fraternity,  and  having  a  recognised 
position  in  society. 

Free  above  Scot-free,  that  observe  no  laws, 
Obey  no  governor,  use  no  religion, 
But  what  they  draw  from  their  own  ancient  custom, 
Or  constitute  themselves,  yet  they  are  no  rebels. 

•'Antiquary,"  chap,  xii. 


300  Auld  Lang  Syne 

All  this  is  extinct  now,  but  the  beggar  is  not  ex- 
tinct, and  never  will  be,  as  we  are  told.  What 
then  is  to  be  done  ?  for  we  are  all  more  or  less  re- 
sponsible for  their  existence.  It  seems  to  me 
that  there  is  only  one  thing  to  be  done,  namely, 
to  give  up,  every  one  of  us,  whatever  quotum  of 
our  income  we  think  right,  and  to  hand  it  over  to 
such  societies  as  take  the  trouble  to  find  out  for 
us  some  not  quite  undeserving  poor.  Our  Charity 
Organisation  Society  does  no  doubt  much  good, 
but  it  should  have  another  branch,  the  members 
of  which  should  be  understood  to  give,  say,  a 
tenth  part,  or  any  other  quotum  of  their  annual 
income  for  charitable  purposes.  Such  a  society 
existed  formerly.  The  members  of  it  were  not 
subjected  to  any  inquisitorial  questions.  They 
simply  declared  that  they  would  regularly  devote 
a  tenth  of  their  income  to  the  alleviation  of  pov- 
erty, and  they  were  left  perfectly  free  to  do  it 
each  in  his  own  way.  What  has  become  of  that 
society  ?  The  organiser  and  leading  spirit  of  it 
died,  and  no  one  seems  to  have  taken  it  up  again. 

There  is,  however,  one  class  of  beggars  and  im- 
postors more  objectionable  than  any — people  who 
do  not  beg  for  money,  but  borrow,  and  never  mean 
to  return  either  the  money  or  any  thanks.  I  have 
known  of  a  good  many  cases  where  youDg  men 
visiting  Oxford  and  having  made  a  few  acquaint- 


Beggars  301 

ances  among  the  undergraduates,  were  invited  to 
dinner  in  college,  and  not  only  borrowed  from 
their  young  companions,  but,  introduced  by  their 
young  friends,  ran  up  bills  among  the  tradesmen 
of  the  town,  and  then  quietly  slipped  away,  leav- 
ing their  friends  to  satisfy  their  creditors  as  best 
they  could.  All  this  goes  on,  and  it  seems  im- 
possible to  stop  it.  Even  if  now  and  then  these 
swindlers  make  a  mistake,  and  place  themselves 
within  the  clutches  of  the  law,  what  satisfaction  is 
it  to  keep  them  in  prison  for  a  month  or  two? 
No  one  knoM^s  their  real  names.  They  are 
boarded  and  fed  at  the  expense  of  the  country, 
and  enjoy  a  little  rest  from  their  laboiu'S.  That 
is  all.  They  go  in  and  come  out  of  prison  as  if 
nothing  had  happened,  and  all  they  have  learnt  in 
prison  is  how  to  be  more  careful  in  future. 

Who  can  doubt  that  there  is  much  poverty  and 
suffering,  even  undeserved  suffering,  among  the 
poor,  more  particularly  among  poor  foreigners  in 
London  ?  The  Society  for  the  Relief  of  Foreigners 
in  Distress  does  much,  but  that  much  is  but  like  a 
drop  of  milk  in  an  ocean  of  salt  water.  The  stories 
of  the  applicants  printed  each  year,  and  carefully 
sifted  by  the  committee,  are  simply  heartrending. 
And  those  who  go  to  see  for  themselves  often  wish 
they  had  never  crossed  the  thresholds  of  these 
hovels  in  which  whole  families  live  huddled  up  to- 


302  Auld  Lang  Syne 

gether,  hungry,  sick,  dying,  dead.  One  feels  ut- 
terly hopeless  and  helpless  at  the  sights  one  sees. 
One  might  as  well  jump  into  the  Atlantic  to  save  a 
sinking  vessel  and  a  drowning  crew  as  attempt  to 
rescue  this  drowning  humanity. 

And  the  men,  after  all,  can  help  themselves. 
They  can  work,  they  may  fight  and  beg,  and  even 
steal,  and  be  sent  to  prison.  But  what  is  the  fate 
of  the  poor  unfortunate  women ! 

There  is  one  more  class  of  beggars,  though  they 
would  indignantly  protest  against  such  a  name,  who 
have  given  me  great  trouble.  They  are  gentlemen 
who  have  something  to  sell  and  who  are  willing  to 
sell  it  to  you  as  a  great  favour.  In  Oxford  these 
gentlemen  have  generally  manuscripts  to  sell,  an- 
cient, valuable,  unique.  As  I  spent  a  good  deal  of 
my  time  at  the  Bodleian  Library,  and  was  there 
every  day  for  several  years  as  Oriental  librarian,  I 
made  some  curious  acquaintances.  After  some  time 
I  never  trasted  a  man  who  oifered  to  sell  scarce 
manuscripts  or  unique  books  to  the  library.  My 
experiences  were  many,  most  of  them  painful. 
Perhaps  the  most  interesting  was  when  we  received 
a  visit  from  the  famous  forger,  Simonides.  Fort- 
unately his  fame  had  preceded  him.  There  had 
been  a  full  account  of  his  doings  and  misdoings 
abroad,  yet  he  arrived  quite  unabashed  with  a  box 
full  of  Greek  MSS.     I  had  warned  our  librarian, 


Beggars  303 

the  Rev.  H.  O.  Coxe,  and  it  was  amusing  to  watch 
the  two  when  their  pourparlers  began.  Simonides 
— so  called,  not  because  he  was  a  descendant  of 
the  poet  Simonides,  but  (with  a  long  i)  because  his 
ancestor  was  one  Simon,  a  Jew — addressed  the  li- 
brarian half  in  ancient  Greek,  half  in  modern  Eng- 
lish. He  knew  both  equally  well.  His  mannei-s 
were  most  engaging.  The  librarian  was  equally 
polite,  and  began  to  examine  some  of  the  Greek 
MSS.  "These  are  of  small  value,"  Simonides  said, 
"they  are  modern.  What  centmy  would  you  as- 
sign to  them  ?  "  The  librarian  assigned  the  thir- 
teenth century  to  them,  and  Simonides  fully 
agreed.  He  then  went  on  producing  MS.  after 
MS.,  but  claiming  for  none  of  them  more  than  the 
twelfth  or  tenth  century.  All  went  on  most  am- 
icably until  he  produced  some  fragments  of  an 
uncial  Greek  MS.  The  librarian  opened  his  eyes 
wide,  and,  examining  them  very  carefully,  put 
some  of  them  aside  for  further  consideration.  Be- 
coming more  and  more  confidential,  Simonides  at 
last  produced  a  real  treasure.  "This,"  he  said, 
"  ought  to  repose  nowhere  but  in  the  Bodleian  Li- 
brary. And  what  century  would  you  assign  to  it, 
Mr.  Librarian  ?  "  Simonides  said  with  a  smile  and 
a  respectful  bow.  Mr.  Coxe  tm-ned  over  a  few 
pages,  and,  looking  very  grave,  though  never  quite 
without  his  usual  twinkle,  "  The  second  half  of  the 


304  Auld  Lang  Syne 

nineteenth  century,  sir,"  he  said,  "  and  now  pack 
up  your  MSS.  and  Apage  (begone)." 

Simonides  did  as  he  was  told,  and,  with  an  in- 
jured expression,  walked  away.  Next  day  ho 
wrote  a  Greek  letter  to  the  librarian,  bitterly  com- 
plaining about  the  Apage,  and  offering  some  more 
MSS.  for  his  inspection.  But  all  was  in  vain  ;  too 
much  had  been  discovered  about  him  in  the  mean- 
time. He  was  certainly  a  most  extraordinary  man 
— a  scholar  who,  if  he  had  applied  his  ingenuity 
to  editing  instead  of  forging  Greek  MSS.,  might 
have  held  a  very  high  position.  His  greatest 
achievement  was,  of  course,  the  newly  discovered 
Greek  text  of  the  history  of  ancient  Egypt  by 
Uranios.  The  man  possessed  a  large  quantity  of 
later  Greek  MSS.  It  seems  that  in  the  Eastern 
monasteries,  where  he  sold,  he  also  acquired  some 
Greek  MSS.,  by  what  means  we  must  not  ask. 
He  tried  several  of  these  MSS.  with  chemicals  to 
see  whether,  as  was  the  fashion  during  the  middle 
ages,  the  parchment  on  which  they  were  written 
had  been  used  before,  and  the  old  writing  scraped 
off  in  order  to  get  writing  material  for  some  le- 
gends of  Christian  saints  or  other  modern  compo- 
sitions. When  that  has  been  the  case,  chemical 
appliances  bring  out  the  old  writing  very  clearly, 
and  he  knew  that  in  this  way  some  very  old  and 
valuable  Greek  texts  had  been  recovered.     In  that 


Beggars  305 

case  the  old  uncial  writing  comes  out  generally  in 
a  dark  blue,  and  becomes  quite  legible  as  under- 
lying tlie  modern  Greek  text.  As  Simonides  was 
not  lucky  enough  to  discover  or  recover  an  an- 
cient Greek  text,  or  what  is  called  a  Palimpsest 
MS.,  the  thought  struck  him  that  he  might  manu- 
facture such  a  treasure,  which  would  have  sold  at 
a  very  high  price.  But  even  this  did  not  satisfy 
his  ambition.  He  might  have  taken  the  text  of 
the  Gospels  and  written  it  between  the  lines  of 
one  of  his  modern  Greek  MSS.,  adding  some  start- 
ling various  readings.  In  that  case  detection 
would  have  seemed  much  more  difficult.  But  he 
soared  higher.  He  knew  that  a  man  of  the  name 
of  Uranios  had  written  a  history  of  Egypt  which 
was  lost.  Simonides  made  up  his  mind  to  write 
himself  in  ancient  Greek  a  history  of  Egypt  such 
as  he  thought  Uranios  might  have  written.  And, 
deep  and  clever  as  he  was,  he  chose  Bunsen's 
"Egypt"  and  Lepsius'  "Chronology"  as  the  au- 
thorities which  ho  faithfully  followed.  After  he 
had  finished  his  Greek  text,  he  wrote  it  in  dark 
blue  ink  and  in  ancient  uncial  Greek  letters  be- 
tween the  letters  of  a  Greek  MS.  of  about  1200 
A.D.  Anybody  who  knows  the  smallness  of  the 
letters  in  such  a  MS.  can  appreciate  the  enormous 
labour  it  must  have  been  to  insert,  as  it  were,  be- 
neath and  between  these  minute  lines  of  each  let- 


306  Auld  Lang  Syne 

ter  the  supposed  earlier  writing  of  Uranios,  so 
that  the  blue  ink  should  never  encroach  on  the 
small  but  true  Greek  letters.  One  single  mistake 
would  have  been  fatal,  and  such  is  the  knowledge 
which  antiquaries  now  possess  of  the  exact  changes 
of  Greek  letters  in  every  century  that  here,  too, 
one  single  mistake  in  the  outline  of  the  old  uncial 
letters  would  have  betrayed  the  forger. 

"When  Simonides  had  finished  his  masterpiece, 
he  boldly  offered  it  to  the  highest  tribunal,  the. 
Koyal  Berlin  Academy.  The  best  chemists  of 
the  time  examined  it  microscopicall}',  and  could 
find  no  fiaw.  Lepsius,  the  great  Egyptologist, 
went  through  the  whole  text,  and  declared  that 
the  book  could  not  be  a  forgery,  because  no  one 
except  Uranios  could  have  known  the  names  of 
the  ancient  Egyptian  kings  and  the  right  dates  of 
the  various  dynasties,  which  were  exactly  such  as 
he  had  settled  them  in  his  books.  The  thought 
that  Simonides  might  have  consulted  these  very 
books  never  entered  anybody's  mind.  Great  was 
the  excitement  in  the  camp  of  the  Egj'ptologists, 
and,  though  the  price  demanded  by  Simonides 
was  shamefully  extravagant,  Bunsen  persuaded 
the  then  King  of  Prussia,  Frederick  William  IV., 
to  pay  it  and  to  secure  the  treasure  for  Berlin. 
Dindorf,  the  famous  Greek  scholar,  had  been  en- 
trusted by  Simonides  with  the  editing  of  the  text, 


Beggars  307 

and  he  had  chosen  the  Clarendon  Press  at  Oxford 
to  publish  the  first  specimen  of  it.  In  the  mean- 
time unfavourable  reports  of  Simouides  reached 
the  German  authorities,  and  during  a  new  exam- 
ination of  the  MS.  some  iiTegularities  were  de- 
tected in  the  shape  of  the  uncial  M,  and  at  last 
one  passage  was  discovered  by  a  very  strong  mi- 
croscope where  the  blue  ink  had  run  across  the 
letters  of  the  modern  Greek  text.  No  doubt 
could  then  remain  that  the  whole  MS.  was  a  forg- 
ery. Part  of  it  had  actually  been  printed  at  the 
Clarendon  Press,  and  I  was  able  to  secure  six 
copies  of  Dindorf's  pamphlet,  which  was  immedi- 
ately destroyed,  and  has  now  become  one  of  the 
scarcest  books  in  any  library.  After  I  had  se- 
cured my  copy,  I  read  on  the  first  page  kcl-v  ifi7]v 
IBiav,  which  was  intended  for  "  According  to  my 
idea."  I  went  straight  to  the  then  Master  of 
Balliol,  Dr.  Scott,  of  Greek  Lexicon  fame.  I 
asked  him  whether  he  thought  such  an  expression 
possible  before  the  fifteenth  century  a.d.  He  took 
down  his  Stephanus,  but  after  looking  for  some 
time  and  hesitating,  he  admitted  at  last  that  such 
an  expression  was  certainly  not  quite  classical. 
Simouides  had,  of  course,  to  refund  the  money, 
and  was  sent  to  prison,  never  to  appear  again  in 
the  libraries  of  Europe.  A  number  of  his  forg- 
eries, however,  exist   in  England,  in  public  and 


3o8  Auld  Lang  Syne 

private  collections ;  among  tbem  portraits  of  the 
Virgin  Mary  and  some  of  the  Apostles  painted  by 
St.  Luke,  a  copy  of  Homer  with  a  dedication  from 
Perikles  to  the  tyrant  of  Syrakuse,  other  Greek 
MSS.  written  on  paper  made  of  human  skin,  etc. 
His  forged  MS.  of  Uranios  was  such  a  masterpiece 
that  he  was  offered  XlOO  for  it,  but  he  declined, 
and  I  have  never  been  able  to  find  out  what  has 
been  the  end  of  it. 

Some  years  afterwards  another  forger  of  the 
name  of  Shapira  offered  to  the  British  Museimi 
some  scrolls  of  parchment  containing  the  text  of 
the  Pentateuch  from  the  hand  of  Moses.  They, 
too,  were  very  closely  criticised,  and  were  exhib- 
ited for  some  time  at  the  Museum ;  nay,  a  Com- 
mission was  appointed  to  report  on  the  MS.,  for 
which,  very  naturally,  an  enormous  sum  was  de- 
manded. It  was  perfectl^y  well  known,  of  course, 
among  Semitic  scholars  that  writing  for  literary 
purposes  was  unknown  at  the  time  of  Moses,  and 
that  the  very  alphabet  used  by  the  forger  belonged 
to  a  much  later  period.  Poor  Shapira,  whose  name 
had  already  become  notorious  as  connected  with 
the  spmious  Moabite  antiquities,  which  he  had 
sold  at  Berlin,  professed  to  be  so  dejected  when 
the  fraud  was  discovered,  a  fraud,  as  he  stated,  not 
committed  by  himself,  but  practised  on  him  by 
some  Arabs,  that  he  went  to  Belgium,  and  there, 


Beggars  309 

acccording  to  the  newspapers,  committed  suicide  ; 
while  some  of  his  victims  maintained  that  even 
then  the  newspaper  paragraphs  on  his  suicide 
were  a  forgery,  and  that  he  had  retired  from  an 
ungrateful  world  under  the  veil  of  a  new  name. 

It  is  extraordinary  how  low  a  man  may  sink 
who  once  takes  to  this  kind  of  trade.  A  Greek 
gentleman  whom  I  knew,  and  who  moved  in  the 
very  best  society  in  London,  who  held  a  responsi- 
ble position  in  a  bank,  where  he  was  trusted  with 
any  amount  of  money,  roused  the  suspicions  of 
the  authorities  in  the  coin  department  of  the  Brit- 
ish Museum.  He  possessed  himself  a  very  valu- 
able collection  of  ancient  coins,  and  was  admitted 
to  all  the  privileges  of  a  special  student  of  numis- 
matics. 

Nearly  all  the  employees  of  the  British  Museum 
were  his  personal  friends,  and  no  one  would  have 
ventured  to  doubt  his  honour.  However,  some 
unique  specimens  of  Greek  coins  disappeared,  or 
rather  were  found  to  be  replaced  by  inferior  speci- 
mens. A  trap  was  laid,  and  there  remained  little 
doubt  that  he  had  transferred  the  better  specimens 
to  his  own  collection,  substituting  inferior  speci- 
mens in  his  possession.  At  first  no  one  would  be- 
lieve it,  but  an  English  jury  found  him  guilty,  and 
he  was  condemned  to  five  years'  penal  servitude. 
Great  efibrts  were  made  by  some  of  the  Foreign 


310  Auld  Lang  Syne 

Ministers,  and  by  the  directors  of  the  bank  in 
which  he  had  been  employed,  and  a  pardon  was 
obtained  for  him  on  condition  of  his  never  return- 
ing to  England.  When,  however,  inquiries  were 
made  as  to  his  behaviour  in  the  hulks  where^he 
had  been  detained  in  the  meantime,  it  turned  out 
that  this  perfect  gentleman  had  behaved  there 
worse  than  the  lowest  criminal,  so  that  it  was  quite 
out  of  the  question  to  release  him,  and  he  was 
kept  to  serve  his  full  sentence.  "What  may  have 
become  of  him  afterwards,  who  knows  ?  But  it 
shows  how  scientific  devotion  can  go  hand  in  hand 
with  moral  degradation,  nay,  can  blunt  the  con- 
science to  such  an  extent  that  exchange  seems  no 
robbery,  and  even  the  abstraction  of  a  book  from 
a  pubHc  or  private  library  is  looked  upon  as  a 
venial  offence.  MSS.  have  again  and  again  disap- 
peared from  libraries,  and  have  been  returned  after 
the  death  of  the  scholar  who  took  them,  showing, 
at  least,  a  late  repentance.  But  I  have  also  knoM^n 
of  cases  where  MSS.  seemed  to  have  vanished  and 
suspicion  fell  on  scholars  who  had  consulted  them 
last,  while  after  a  time  the  MSS.  turned  up  again, 
having  been  placed  in  a  wrong  place  in  the  li- 
brary ;  which,  of  course,  in  a  large  library  is  tanta- 
mount to  throwing  them  out  of  window. 

There  was  a  well-known  case  in  the  same  coin- 
room  of  the  British  Museum,  where,  during  a  visit 


Beggars  311 

of  a  number  of  gentlemen  and  ladies,  it  -was  ob- 
served that  a  very  valuable  and  almost  unique 
Sicilian  coin  liad  disappeared.  All  the  gentle- 
men present  in  the  room  at  the  time  had  to  be 
searched,  and  no  one  objected  except  one.  He 
protested  his  innocence,  but  declared  that  noth- 
ing would  induce  him  to  allow  his  pockets  to  be 
searched.  All  the  other  visitors  were  allowed  to 
go  home,  but  he  was  detained  while  the  coin- 
room  was  swept,  and  every  corner  searched  once 
more.  At  last  the  missing  coin  was  found  in  a 
chink  of  the  floor. 

Every  apology  was  made  to  the  suspected  per- 
son, but  he  was  asked  why  he  had  so  strongly  ob- 
jected to  being  searched.  He  then  produced  from 
his  pocket  another  specimen  of  the  very  same 
coin.  "I  came  here,"  he  said,  "to  compare  my 
specimen,  which  is  very  perfect,  with  the  only 
other  specimen  which  is  thought  to  be  superior 
to  mine,  and  almost  unique  in  the  world.  Now, 
suppose,"  he  added,  "that  you  had  not  found 
your  coin,  and  had  found  my  specimen  in  my 
pocket,  would  anybody  have  believed  in  my  in- 
nocence ?  " 

Such  cases  will  happen,  though  no  doubt  a  man 
must  have  been  bom  under  a  very  unlucky  star 
to  come  in  for  such  a  trial.  In  most  museums 
unique   specimens   are  now  never  shown  except 


312  Auld  Lang  Syne 

under  precautions  which  make  such  accidents,  as 
well  as  deliberate  thefts,  almost  impossible. 

After  all  the  sad  experiences  which  one  has  had, 
it  is  perhaps  quite  right  that  we  should  shut  our 
ears  and  our  house  against  all  beggars,  whether  in 
rags  or  in  the  disguise  of  gentlemen.  But  even 
our  servants  have  hearts,  and  though  they  have 
orders  not  to  admit  beggars,  they  often  are,  or 
imagine  they  are,  better  judges  than  ourselves.  I 
know  that  they  sometimes  give  something  where 
their  masters,  rightly  or  ^vrongly,  decline  to  do 
anything.  Physical  suffering  appeals  to  them, 
though  they  also  have  learnt  how  beggars  who  ask 
for  a  crust  of  bread  throw  away  what  has  been 
given  them  as  soon  as  they  leave  the  house. 

I  remember  once  my  servant  coming  in  and  say- 
ing :  "  There  is  a  poor  man  at  the  door,  I  believe 
he  is  dying,  sir !  "  I  confess  I  did  not  believe  it, 
but  I  went  to  see  him,  and  he  looked  so  ill  that 
the  doctor  had  to  be  sent  for.  The  doctor  de- 
clared he  was  in  the  last  stage  of  consumption, 
and  I  was  glad  to  send  him  to  the  Infirmary. 

He  was  a  poor  tailor,  a  German  by  birth,  but 
who  had  lived  many  years  in  England  and  spoke 
English  perfectly  well.  Being  well  taken  care  of, 
he  got  better  for  a  time.  I  went  to  see  him  and 
tried  to  cheer  him  as  well  as  I  could.  He  was 
surprised  to  see  me,  and  said  with  a  frown :  "  Why 


Beggars  313 

do  you  come  to  see  me  ?  "  I  said  that  be  seemed 
quite  alone  in  the  world,  without  any  friends  or 
relations  in  England. 

"  Friends  and  relations  !  "  he  said.  "  I  have 
never  had  any  in  all  my  life." 

"  You  had  father  and  mother  ?  "  I  said. 

"No,"  he  answered,  "I  never  had.  I  never 
knew  anybody  that  belonged  to  me.  I  was 
brought  up  at  a  Government  school  for  poor  chil- 
dren, was  apprenticed  to  a  tailor,  and  when  I  was 
quite  young  sent  to  England,  where  I  have  been 
working  in  different  places  for  nearly  twenty  years. 
I  have  never  begged,  and  have  always  been  able  to 
support  myself." 

He  told  me  the  name  of  the  tailor  for  whom  he 
had  been  working  in  Oxford,  and  I  received  the 
most  satisfactory  account  both  from  his  employer 
and  from  the  men  with  whom  he  had  been  work- 
ing. 

"  Why  do  you  come  to  see  me  ?  "  he  said  again 
and  again.  "  No  one  has  ever  been  kind  to  me. 
I  want  to  die ;  I  have  nothing  to  care  for  in  this 
world.  The  few  things  that  belong  to  me  I  vnsh. 
to  leave  to  the  poor  servant  girl  in  the  house 
where  I  have  last  been  at  work,  the  little  money 
in  my  purse  may  go  to  the  Infirmary.  I  know  no 
one  else  ;  no  one  cares  for  me,  or  has  ever  cared 
for  me." 


314  Auld  Lang  Syne 

Wlio  can  imagine  sucli  a  life  ?  Without  father 
or  mother,  without  friends,  without  the  sense  of 
belonging  to  anybody  in  the  world,  of  ever  being 
loved  or  pitied  by  a  single  human  soul.  Even  the 
idea  of  a  kind  and  loving  Father  in  heaven  had  no 
meaning  for  him.  His  one  wish  was  to  have  done 
with  it  all.  It  was  no  trouble  to  him  to  leave  this 
world  and  to  cease  from  stitching.  He  could  not 
even  express  anything  like  gratitude.  All  he 
could  say  was  that  it  was  so  strange  that  any  one 
should  care  for  him,  and  come  to  see  him.  He 
passed  away  without  suffering,  anyhow  without  a 
sound  of  complaint.  Whatever  he  left  was  given 
to  the  poor  servant  girl,  who  was  equally  surprised 
that  the  poor  tailor  should  have  thought  of  her. 
Wliat  an  empty,  purposeless  life  it  seemed  to  have 
been,  and  yet  his,  too,  was  a  precious  soul,  and 
meant  to  be  more  on  earth  than  a  mere  sewing 
machine. 

Yes,  now  and  then  one  can  do  a  little  good,  even 
to  professional  beggars ;  but  very,  very  seldom — 
and  it  is  right  that  such  cases  should  be  known  and 
remembered.  The  most  difficult  people  to  deal  with 
are  educated  young  foreigners,  who  always  came 
to  me  with  the  same  tale.  Some  of  them  were 
hardened  sinners,  and  had  to  end  their  visits  to 
Oxford  and  to  the  always  open  rooms  of  under- 
graduates in  college,  with  a  visit  to  our  gaol.     I 


Beggars  315 

have  no  doubt  whatever  that  some  of  them  be- 
longed to  good  families,  and  had  received  an  excel- 
lent education.  Some  of  them  had  run  away  from 
home  with  a  woman  they  had  fallen  in  love  with  ; 
others  may  have  committed  some  crime,  mostly 
while  serving  in  the  army,  and  had  tried  to  escape 
punishment  by  deserting.  But  there  were  others 
who  had  come  to  England  to  learn  English,  hoping 
to  support  themselves  by  giving  lessons,  for  as 
soon  as  a  foreigner  arrives  in  England  he  imagines 
that  a  dozen  people  are  ready  to  learn  his  lan- 
guage, which  in  many  cases  he  is  quite  unable  to 
teach.  I  remember  one  of  this  class  whom,  by 
mere  accident,  I  was  able  to  help.  He  came  to  me 
in  a  ragged  and  very  disreputable  state.  He  told 
me  he  was  starving,  and  wished  me  to  find  pupils 
for  him  at  Oxford.  Well,  I  managed  with  some 
effort  to  get  hold  of  him  and  shake  him.  He 
showed  that  he  knew  Greek  and  Latin,  and  his 
German  was  that  of  an  educated  man.  "  My  dear 
fellow,"  I  said,  "  how  in  the  world  did  you  sink  so 
low  ?  "  He  saw  that  I  meant  it,  and,  with  tears  in 
his  eyes,  told  me  his  simple,  and  this  time  true, 
story.  He  had  been  a  teacher  in  a  well-known 
German  watering-place,  and,  a^  he  had  several 
English  pupils,  he  was  anxious  to  perfect  himself 
in  English.  He  arrived  in  London  without  know- 
ing anybody,  and  with  but  q,  sjnall  ^um  of  money 


316  Auld  Lang  Syne 

left.  "  I  don't  know  what  happened  to  me,"  he 
said  ;  "  I  must  have  had  a  very  serious  illness,  and 
I  was  told  that  for  weeks  I  was  in  a  delirious 
fever.  When  I  came  to  myself,  I  was  in  a  miser- 
able hovel  occupied  by  a  poor  German  family  in 
"Whitechapel.  I  know  nothing  about  them,  nor 
how  I  had  fallen  into  their  hands.  But  they  had 
taken  me  in  ;  they  had  nursed  me,  as  I  found  out, 
for  several  weeks  ;  and  they  now  asked  me  to  re- 
pay what  they  had  spent  on  me.  My  money  was 
gone  ;  I  knew  no  one  who  would  have  sent  me  any 
money  from  Germany.  My  Whitechapel  friends 
were  kind  to  me,  and  at  last  they  advised  me,  as  I 
knew  Greek  and  Latin,  to  go  to  Oxford  and  Cam- 
bridge  and  beg.  I  did  not  like  it  at  all ;  but  what 
could  I  do  ?  I  owed  them  the  money,  and  I  had 
no  means  of  earning  anything  in  London.  I  was 
starving,  and  my  friends  had  little  to  eat  and  drink 
themselves."  I  believed  his  story,  and  this  time  I 
had  no  reason  to  regret  it.  The  master  of  a  school 
for  boys  near  London  had  written  to  me  to  recom- 
mend a  German  teacher  as  a  stop-gap.  I  wrote  to 
him,  giving  him  a  full  account  of  my  man,  and 
told  him  that  he  had  experience  in  teaching,  and 
wished  to  stay  for  a  time  in  England  to  improve 
his  knowledge  of  English.  The  master  said  he 
would  give  him  a  trial.  I  told  the  young  man  to 
get  rid  of  every  article  of  clothing  he  had  on,  and 


Beggars  317 

had  liim  clothed  as  well  as  I  could  before  I  sent 
him  off.  He  acquitted  himself  admirably  at  the 
school,  and  his  first  thought  was  to  pay  the  poor 
Samaritans  in  Whitechapel  for  what  they  had  done 
for  him.  After  a  time  he  went  back  to  Germany 
to  resume  his  work  as  a  teacher  of  German  at  the 
fashionable  watering-place  he  had  come  from  ; 
and  for  several  years  I  regularly  received  letters  of 
thanks  from  him,  telling  me  how  well  he  was  getting 
on  in  the  world,  that  he  was  happily  married,  and 
hoped  that  he  would  see  me  once  more,  though  not 
in  England,  but  at  his  watering-place  in  Germany. 
Here  I  had  my  reward. 

During  the  first  year  I  was  in  England  I  some- 
times saw  harrowing  scenes  among  the  poor  Ger- 
man families  stranded  and  wrecked  in  London. 
These  poor  people  flocked  to  the  Prussian  Lega- 
tion. Generally  they  could  only  see  the  porter- 
If  they  were  lucky,  they  saw  a  secretary ;  and,  if 
very  lucky,  the  Minister  himself,  Bunsen,  came  to 
see  them  in  the  hall.  Now  and  then  I  was  sent  to 
find  out  what  might  be  true  in  the  heart-rending 
stories  they  told.  And  often  there  was  plenty  of 
truth  in  them.  Father,  mother,  and  children  had 
been  tempted  away  from  a  small  village  in  the 
Black  Forest  or  the  Erzgebirge.  They  had  been 
told  that  England  was  made  of  gold  and  silver, 
and  that  they  had  only  to  scratch  the  soil  to  get 


318  Auld  Lang  Syne 

as  mucli  as  they  wanted  and  bring  it  home.  They 
believed  it  all,  and  when  they  saw  the  glistening 
white  chalk  cliffs  near  Dover,  they  thought  they 
were  all  of  silver.  Then  when  they  came  to  Lon- 
don, the  misery  began,  and  began  very  soon. 
They  were  hungry,  the  children  were  sickly,  and 
there  was  nothing  for  them  to  do  to  earn  an 
honest  penny.  Nothing  remained  but  to  earn  dis- 
honest pennies,  and  in  this  they  were  readily 
helped  by  all  the  people  around  them. 

I  cannot  tell  the  harrowing  scenes  I  saw.  Those 
who  care  to  know  what  is  going  on  among  the 
poor  German  families  in  London  should  go  them- 
selves, and  they  would  see  more  than  they  would 
wish  ever  to  have  seen.  One  case  I  shall  never 
forget,  and  it  is  perhaps  as  well  that  people  should 
know  these  things.  In  one  room  on  a  miserable 
bed  there  lay  a  poor  girl,  quite  young,  who  had 
given  birth  to  a  child.  The  child  had  fortunately 
died.  The  people  about  her  had  been  kind  to  her, 
and  done  all  they  could  be  expected  to  do.  But, 
oh !  the  sad,  half-deUrious  face  of  the  dying  moth- 
er, for  there  could  be  no  doubt  that  she  was  dying. 
And  what  was  her  story  ?  As  far  as  I  could  find 
out  from  the  women  about  her,  she  was  the  daugh- 
ter of  a  German  clergyman.  A  young  Englishman 
had  come  to  their  vicarage  to  learn  German.  He 
had  fallen  in  love  with  his  pretty  German  teacher, 


Beggars  319 

and  the  poor  girl  had  fallen  in  love  with  him.  He 
had  promised  her  marriage,  and  when  she  could 
no  longer  hide  her  state  from  her  parents  she  had 
been  persuaded  by  her  lover  to  follow  him  to  Eng- 
land. In  London  he  had  left  her  with  a  small  sum 
of  money  at  a  little  German  hotel,  promising  to 
come  back  as  soon  as  possible  after  he  had  seen 
his  father.  When  the  money  which  he  had  left 
for  her  became  low,  she  had  been  sent  to  a  poor 
German  family.  She  never  believed  that  he  whom 
she  called  her  English  husband  had  forsaken  her. 
Something,  she  felt  sure,  had  happened  to  pre- 
vent him  from  coming  back  to  her.  I  hope  she 
was  right.  However,  he  never  came  ;  she  died,  and 
died  in  agonies,  calling  for  him,  for  her  child,  for 
her  happy  home  in  Germany,  and  with  her  last 
breath  and  her  last  tears  for  her  mother!  She 
never  divulged  any  names.  She  died  and  was 
buried  with  her  child. 

Can  society  do  nothing  for  these  poor  victims  ? 
Can  we  only  call  them  hard  names — some  of  them 
being  the  most  gentle,  the  most  loving,  the  most 
innocent  creatures  in  the  world!  Have  we  not 
even  some  Pharisees  left  among  us  who  will  go 
out  one  by  one,  beginning  at  the  eldest  even  unto 
the  last,  instead  of  throwing  a  stone  at  her  ?  Who 
is  to  solve  this  problem  if  not  He  who  said : 
"  Neither  do   I   condemn   thee ;   go,  and   sin  no 


320  Auld  Lang  Syne 

more  "  ?  And  she,  the  poor  girl,  was  she  really  so 
great  a  sinner  ?  She  did  not  look  so.  And  if  she 
was,  had  she  not  expiated  her  sin  and  been  puri- 
fied by  the  most  awful  suffering  ?  She  looked  so 
pure  and  innocent  that  Heine's  lines  were  con- 
stantly coming  into  my  mind  : — 

Mir  ist's  als  ob  ich  die  Hande 
Auf's  Haupt  Dir  legen  soUt', 
Und  beten  dass  Gott  Dich  behute, 
So  fromm,  so  rein,  so  hold. 

Poor  girl !  I  felt  for  her  with  all  my  heart,  but 
I  had  but  few  words  of  comfort  for  her.  How  dif- 
ficult it  is  to  judge.  Love,  youth,  nature,  and  ig- 
norance have  to  be  reckoned  with  in  our  judg- 
ments ;  and  society,  which  no  doubt  has  to  enforce 
certain  laws  for  its  own  protection,  should  distin- 
guish at  least  between  sins  against  society  and 
sins  against  God,  before  whom  one  untrue  and  un- 
kind word,  written  or  spoken,  may  weigh  heavier 
in  the  scales,  for  all  we  know,  than  the  sin  of 
many  a  heart-broken  girl. 


INDEX 


Abekek,  265 

Albany,  Duke  of,  276-280 
Albrecht  the  Bear,  211,  228- 

230 
Alliterative  poetry,  44-47 
Americans,  167,  169 
Anhalt-Coethen,  last  Duke  of, 

235-237 
Anlialt-Dessau,  Duke  of,  230, 

231 
Anhalt-Dessau,   Duchess   of, 

78,  245 
Arndt,  Moritz,  66,  67 
Arnold,    Matthew,    86,    120, 

128-142 
Ascania,  230  n. 


Bismarck,  248,  261,269 

Blue-gowns,  299 

Blum,  Robert,  66,  69,  70 

Boeckh,  24 

Boetticher,    Karl.      See   Le- 

garde. 
Brahms,  3 
Brazil,  late  Emperor  of,  280- 

285 
Brother,  M.  M.'s,  296-299 
Browning,  Robert,  41,  86, 180, 

143,  159-162 
Brugsch  Pasha,  251 
Bunsen,  306 
Burnouf,  Eugfine,  136 
Byron,  49 


Basedow,  6,  53 

Basedow,  Adolf  von,  68,  69 

Beck,  Karl,  67 

Bedesmen,  299,  300 

Beethoven,  3,  4 

Begging,  excitement  of,  290- 

'  292 
Bennett,  Sterndale,  30 
Bernhard  of  Clairvaux,  227 
Bikshus,  299 
Bird,  R.  Mertyns,  87 


Carltle,  86,  102, 103 

Cetto,  Baron,  254 

Charity  Organization  Society, 

300 
Chorus  =  dance,  43,  44 
Christian,  Prince  of  Anhalt, 

224 
Church,  Dean,  145 
Clough,  86,  127,  128 
Conservatoire,  Paris,  15 
Coxe,  Rev.  II.  O.,  303 


821 


322 


Index 


Crown  Prince  (Emperor  Fred- 
erick), 257-272 
Curtius,  Ernst,  256 


Danish  officer  begging,  293- 

295 
Darwin,  86,  202-204 
Darwinian  School,  194,  200- 

202 
David,  3,  13,  18 
Dessau,  5,  6 
Dickens,  126,  127 
Dindorf,  306,  308 
Donkin,  Professor,  36 
Doyle,  Sir  F.,  144 


EcKSTEiK,  Baron  von,  72 
Emerson,  86,  148,   149,   170- 

177 
Eugenie,  the  Empress,  208 
Evolution,  194-200 


Faraday,  86,  191-193 
Feet  in  poetry,  42-45 
Fiske,  John,  137 
Fontane,  Theodor,  61 
Foreigners  in  distress,  Society 

for  relieving,  302 
Frederick  the  Great,  221,  222 
Frederick  William  IV.,  245- 

247,  249,  251,    260,  270, 

271 
Froude,  J.  A.,  49,  86,  88-106, 

138. 146 


Gaberlunzie  men,  299 
Gaisford,  Dean,  35 
George,  Prince  of  Anhalt,  226 
German  girl  dying,  318 
German  principalities,  215 
German  tailor,  poor,  312-315 
German  teacher,  poor,  315-317 
Gewandhaus  Concerts,  13,  16, 
27 

Gibbon,  98,  99,  146 

Goethe,  48, 52-54, 76. 137-139, 
141,  142.  218,  234 

Goldstuecker,  247 

Grant,  Sir  A.,  145 

Granville,  Lord,  275 

Greek   coins,   theft  of,   309, 
310 

Grote.  86,  146 

Gustavus  Adolphus,  224,  225 


Hatjpt,  Professor,  56 
Haydn.  3 

Heine,  H.,  41.  48,  57-63 
Helmholtz,  137 
Helps,  Sir  A.,  88,  188 
Hensel,  Fanny,  22-25,  27 
Herder,  234 
Herlossohn,  67 
Herodotus,  99 
Herwegh,  64-66 
Hiller,  13,  17,  30,  31 
Holland,  late  Queen  of,  284, 

285 
Holmes,  Oliver  Wendell,  86, 

169, 181-184 
Hugo,  Victor,  72,  158 


Index 


323 


Humboldt,    Alexander    von, 

245,  248-251 
Hummel,  21 

Hundred  Greatest  Men,  137 
Huxley,  86,  120 


Jellineck,  70 
Johnson,  Manuel,  145 
Jowett,  145 

Jubilee,  the  Diamond,  285- 
288 


Kalliavoda,  14, 18 

Karl,  August,  Duke  of  Wei- 
mar, 219,  234 

Kerner,  J.,  54,  55 

Kingsley,  Charles,  47,  86, 
105-119 

Klingemann,  32 

Keuhne,  67 


Lagarde,  Paul  de,  83 

Lamartine,  71-74 

Lamennais,  72 

Laube,  67 

Lavater,  219 

Leopold  Friedrich,  late  Duke 

of  Dessau,  210-215,  233, 

237,  243 
Leopold     Friedrich     Franz, 

Duke  of  Dessau,  217-220 
Leopold     the   old   Dessauer, 

220-223 
Lepsius,  305,  307 


LIghtfoot,  Bishop  of  Durham, 

268 
Lind,  Jenny,  16,  34,  35 
Liszt,  16-21 
Livy,  99 
Longfellow,  181 
Lowell,  86,  170,  177-181 
Luther,  234-226 
Lyall,  86 
Lytton,  Lord,  188-190 


Macaulay,  86,  99,  102,  185- 

187 
Martineau,  Rev.  Dr.,  86 
Matthisou,  219 
Maurice,  Frederick,  86,  193 
Melody,  1,  27 
Mendelssohn,  3,  4,  9,  10,  13, 

18,  19,  31-27,  31-33 
Metre,  43-45 
Meyer,  Dr.  Karl,  37*^  n. 
Mill,  J.  S.,  193 
Milman,  Dean,  192 
Morier,  145 
Moscheles,  31,  30 
Mozart,  3,  4,  8 
Miiller,  Wilhelm,  16,   48-55, 

56,84 


Napoleon,  219 

Natural  selection,  195 

Neate,  125,  145 

Newman  and  Kingsley,  113- 

116 
Novello,  Clara,  30 


3^4 


Index 


Oriental  languages,  School 

of,  275,  276 
Orleans,  Duchesse  d',  73,  74 
Ouseley,  Sir  F.,  38 
Owen,  Sir  Richard,  86 


Palgrave,  F.,  144, 145 

Platen,  40-42 

Poetry,  139-143 

Porter,  Noah,  137 

Prince  Consort,  271,  272-275 

Prussia,  Prince  of,  253-256 

Prussia,  Princess  of,  256,  257 

Pussy  and  Kingsley,  116 


Raleigh,  Sir  Walter,  99 
Ranke,  100 
Renan,  137 
Rhyme,  40-48 
Roggenbach,  Baron,  256 
Rosen,  F.,  32 
Royal  Institution,  193 
Riickert,  42,  46,  75-85 
Ruskin,  86,  147-152 
Russell,  Lord  John,  274 


Sandars,  145 
Sand,  George,  72 
Schiller,  234 
Schloezer,  256 
Schneider,  F.,  8,  10,  12 
Schubert,  16,  49 
Schumann,  4,  18,  27-30 


Schwab,  G. ,  54 
Sedgwick,  86 
Sellar,  145 
Sewell,  Dr.,  89 
"S.  G.  0.,"88 
Shaftesburys,  the  three  Lord, 

130-133, 135 
Shairp,  John,  144 
Shakespeare,  141 
Shapira,  308 
Simonides,  303-308 
Socialism,  Christian,  111 
Stainer,  Sir  John,  37 
Stanley,  Dean,  1,  34,  86,  107, 

116,  137,  193,  208,  285 
Stanley,  Ladj%  193 
Stern,  Daniel,  73 
Stockhausen,  16 
Stockmarr,  General,  240 
Strophe,  antistrophe,  43 
Stubbs,  Dr.,  104, 105 


Taine,  H.,  137 

Tennyson,  41, 47, 86, 152-159, 

285 
Thackeray,  124-126 
Thalberg,  30 

Thirlwall,  Bishop,  86,  192 
Thirty-nine  Articles,  141 
Translations,  93,  97 
Trinity,  doctrine  of  the,  130- 

135 
Trithen,  Dr.,  149 
Turner's  pictures,  151 
Tyndall.  120 


Index 


325 


Uhland,  54,  56 
Uranios,    Simonides'   forgery 
of,  304-308 

Versus,  43 
Vineta,  50 

Wagner,  4 

Wales,  Prince  of,  at  Oxford, 

276 
Weber,  C.  M.,  11 


Whewell,  86 

Wieck,  Clara  (Madame  Schu- 
mann), 17,  21,  28,  29 

Wieland,  219,  234 

William  I.,  265,  272 

William  II.,  267 

Winckelmann,  218 

Woerlitz,  219,  225 

Wolfgang,  Prince  of  Anhalt, 
225 

Wolfsobn,  63 

Wolverton,  Lord,  86 


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